Chp. 1-4: Don't Flinch
May 5th, 2019 (Local Time: 0602)
Southern Erusea
"Driver, halt."
Captain Hugo Crozat's Rooikat 105 gently rocked to a stop as he raised his binoculars. There was little of interest on the dry shrublands ahead of him; his eyes were focused on the structures and silhouettes a few kilometers away. A simulated enemy force holding the pass down into a river's valley, which held a vital bridgehead. With it, Erusean forces could flank around their opponents and create a secondary logistical route for the main advance. The village that preceded the pass was surrounded by open ground, save for two hills on either side. A light breeze ruffled the camouflage nets placed over old wrecks, now relegated to playing the part of enemy vehicles.
Two of his platoon leaders settled into place amongst some Shepherd's Trees while the rest of the company spread out in whatever cover was nearby. They were far enough away that the vehicles' camouflage made them almost impossible to distinguish from the land. Crozet wrapped his hand around the switch for his mic and gave it a squeeze.
"Marteau 0, this is Coureur 0, we have eyes on Objective Passage. In position and standing by for Blanc." He radioed.
"Understood Coureur 0. Blanc reports they are two minutes out." His battalion's Command Center (Commcen) reported.
Crozet grunted out his reply and lowered himself into the vehicle's turret to scan with his thermal viewer. He spotted small signs, each with the ubiquitous skull and crossbones on them. As if summoned, his battle management computer detected the approach of their way through the minefield. From behind, he could just barely hear the sound of four Olifant CEVs (Combat Engineer Vehicles) approaching. The vehicles rolled into the gaps between the platoons of Rooikats and waited for the order to move. He rose into the open again and simply watched the village until the Commcen broke the silence.
"Blancs 1 and 2 report they are moving into the attack at this time."
High above the battalion, two Carver D strike aircraft rolled into the attack, one about 30 seconds behind the first. Each aircraft dropped two GGB-17B GPS-guided bombs as a simulated air defense system finally picked them up. The WSO (Weapon Systems Officer) in the back of the first plane let the plane's RWR (Radar Warning Receivers) talk to his targeting pod and immediately picked out one of the offending vehicles.
"Blanc 2, switch to your Goliats and standby to make another pass to engage those enemy AA positions. Blancs 3 and 4, continue as planned. Approach from the south instead of the southwest." The pilot ordered.
"Copy Lead." Blanc 2's pilot replied.
Crozet watched as the two jets dipped further below the clouds and moved away from their targets as he manned his MAG. Despite the countermeasures deployed, it seemed more like an aerobatic display than a combat exercise. A second pair of Carvers popped up from behind hills to the south and made a single pass with their GGBs. The four jets circled and dove again in unpredictable patterns and intervals. Their engines were just starting to fade when the Commcen was back on the radio.
"All bat elements this is Marteau 0, you are cleared to advance on the objective. Rouge will be on station in one minute to further assist."
"All Coureur wheels, get a move on! Scara, fall in behind us once we're about 2000 Meters forward."
"Copy, good luck."
Crozet's command element rolled forward, forming the very tip of the wedge formation the company fell into. They moved with the speed and grace of racing horses, rolling across the rough terrain as if it were a well-paved highway. The CEVs followed as planned, and finally the bulk of the attacking force exited cover to bring up the rear. Two companies of Krokodil 1 wheeled IFVs spread out and started deploying smoke as the ground opened up. Crozet raised his binoculars again and scanned the buildings for signs of movement.
"Coureur 1 has contact! Left quadrant at 1200 Meters." His first platoon's commander spoke up.
"Additional contact, right quadrant at 1100 Meters. My second section reports multiple silhouettes in the buildings ahead." Second Platoon's commander added.
They didn't need Crozet's input; almost immediately came the crack of main guns as the Rookiats fought off a surprise attack by enemy vehicles. Popups scattered about past the minefield in unpredictable intervals. The soldiers in charge of them were always crafty bastards. Crozet looked ahead for any signs as the minefield got closer and closer. He ducked down to do the same with his thermals; his gunner spotted something first.
"Target, Forward Quadrant. Defensive position, range 1300 Meters." He said.
"Engage!" Crozet replied.
"Firing! Load HEAT."
The gun made a sharp report and the loader manhandled a HEAT (High-Explosive Anti-Tank) into the gun's breech. The formation slowed and deployed smoke as they reached the edge of the obstacle. Two "Kroks" rolled ahead of the others with trailers while the CEVs lowered their blades and started into the minefield. Crozet rolled a bit further to the right, where his gunner could concentrate fire on the corresponding hill. Even though the enemies on it couldn't shoot back, The Erusean Captain was going to judge his company's performance as if they could.
"Coureur 0 this is Aigle 4, Rouge is on station and ready for targets. Each is armed with six Goliats, four 250 kilos, and their cannons." A Forward Air Controller attached to his company radioed.
"Understood, have them make their first passes against the hills. Concentrate on enemy armor and fortifications." He requested.
"Copy that."
The Olifants had reached the far side of the minefield and reversed towards the Rooikats behind a cloud of smoke. They exited the minefield, then picked two new places to make a lane and started forward once again. Ideally, enemy fire would be slacking by now with how many rounds the armored vehicles had fired. The entrance of a Vleermuis B attack aircraft seemed like overkill, but Corzet knew no such thing. The machine wasn't as sexy as the delta-winged Carvers, but those big, straight wings could carry a lot of iron. Its wingman swept in a few seconds later, and both absolutely pummeled the enemy positions on the high ground.
"Excellent hits, Aigle, tell them to make another run with bombs, then reconnoiter the road north of the objective. We're escorting Sautiller to it at this time…driver, back up and get us moving down that spoor, yeah?"
"Gotcha Cap." The young man replied with enthusiasm.
Crozet was just as happy as him to get moving again. The infantry company's mortars laid down fresh smoke as the Rooikats filtered through the initial tracks made by the Olifants. The Vleermuises made their second run on the badly beaten buildings and wrecks. Enemy resistance, by now, should've been eliminated. As the attack jets banked away, Crozet ordered his company to pick up the pace. They barreled past the village and down the slope beyond until they found more trees to take cover behind.
The Kroks were right on their heels, full of eager young "Bokkops" and their leaders. Safeties were flipped off and charging handles pulled as the IFVs fanned out at the settlement's edge. The ramps dropped and the men came rushing down with their R4s and SS-77 Minis, dressed in the same green-tan-brown "lizard" camo their transports bore. A similar scene played all along the southern plains of the country as every conceivable example of Erusea's military power. To the south of Crozet's skirmish, dozens of Renoster 1 main battle tanks rolled across the same dry plains ahead of just as many more Kroks. Rooikat SPAAGs galloped along the flanks with their more conventional brethren, searching for enemy aircraft that wouldn't come. High above, to the west, Carver Cs and JAS-39E Gripens swirled and circled through the clouds. Others of both types raced towards Erusean air bases, from which MQ-99 drones would try to intercept them. To drive home the point, the massive series of mock battles was happening a little over 70 kilometers from the border with Selatapurta…
The Oseans were keenly aware of this kind of thing. Ever since King D'Elise had declared the ISEV and the Arsenal Birds would threaten peace in Usea, they'd been watching. Selatapurta was a sore spot for the king and his country. An Erusean colony until the 1960s and the birthplace of many ethnic Eruseans. Ones who, to this day, claimed the independence vote was rigged. In 2003, the country was reoccupied during the Continental War. Selatapura's citizens fought back, even after the armed forces were wiped out. Erusean "reprisals" during the war and the return of the monarchy in 2015 had worsened relations. Not that they'd ever been particularly warm since the nation gained its independence. The ISEV and the Arsenal Birds were just the latest examples to the irredentist types. So day after day Osea and her Usean allies looked west and waited for a sign that something might be brewing. That mission fell mostly on the Osean 14th Air Force. Orders flowed out of its HQ near Comberth and imagery and analysis flowed back in.
The images and reports on what was gleaned from analysis a part of the daily routine for Brigadier General Howard Clemens. He would gather them the night before, review them, and then use them to form a report Lieutenant General Brenden Taylor could digest without getting overwhelmed. The man oversaw seven separate wings including Clemens's 781st Intelligence, Surveillance, and Reconnaissance Wing; it'd been made clear that "fluff" was frowned upon. Privately, Clemens had come to expect this kind of thing from a former fighter pilot. He savored the soft power he had, though. Pilots got glamor, but without intelligence they were nothing. It stroked his ego that most of the men gathered, whether in the old conference room or on the video call screens, were pilots or had been pilots.
"This exercise saw a significant increase in the number of aircraft involved. By our estimates, this shows that the Royal Erusean Air Force has increased its mission-capable rate to what would nominally be wartime levels." He finished.
The short, stocky Taylor nodded and his G-2 took a seat. He stood up immediately after and put his hands behind his back.
"I spoke with the president and the National Security Council this morning in regards to these exercises. President Ewing has asked for options on responding to these shows of force with displays of our own. She emphasized that such matters should be a multinational one, which is why I've asked a number of our allies to attend. Outside our liaison staff. I spoke with several of our partners before this meeting and, as the memo mentions, their governments have voted to send further forces to help with the air policing element of this operation. We've been given a deadline of 48 hours to plan and execute something." He spoke up in a low, even voice.
His G-3, Colonel Glenn Colin, finished a slug of coffee from a mug that read "Thunder Blockhead" and cleared his throat.
"General, if I may?" He said.
"Go ahead, Colonel." Taylor nodded.
Colin leaned forward and nodded in gratitude to his superior.
"From my perspective, we can do this without rattling the saber too hard. The Eruseans know that we can get forces in fast; Operation Marathon back in 2016 showed that. Drawing on some of my experience as a screen monkey in the back of a Sentry, I believe that a particularly effective way to send a message is to show just how quickly we can coordinate on a large scale." He explained.
"What's our current mission-capable rate?" Taylor inquired.
Colin answered it like he'd known the number all his life.
"Just past the peacetime requirements. If I were to ballpark it, I'd say we could put up about 90% of our birds if war were to break out this second. My biggest concern is the 9th Fighter Wing in San Salvacion. Their 22s are a huge force multiplier but they only have so many. They've been flying pretty constantly since they relieved the 1st."
His glance went to one of the screens, where Colonel Larry Rodriguez sat. The man's face remained neutral, but Colin was quick to explain.
"If we do incorporate the 9th, Colonel Rodriguez, I for one am putting forward that they go through a 24-hour stand down so your people can get some rest. I don't wanna throw mud at you in front of everyone else, but those 22s are worth their weight in gold." He said.
"I understand, and I appreciate it." Rodriguez grunted.
"Okay, then assume we can't employ them. What then?" Taylor hypothesized.
"It will level the playing field, or bring it closer to that kind of situation." Colin replied.
"If I could interject?" Zapland Commonwealth Air Force Commodore Gregory Hillard asked.
"What's on your mind, Commodore?" Colin asked.
"Perhaps part of this hypothetical exercise should exclude the 9th Fighter Wing? The goal is to deter the Eruseans; I'm not a very political man but the Erusean king shouts loud enough that even I can hear him. That our technology is a crutch. Showing that we don't need 5th-generation birds to beat him might send a message."
For a second Colin could've sworn he saw Rodriguez trying to keep a smile off his face. He was half tempted to assure him that he was still relevant to the discussion. Or perhaps now was a good time to get himself a cup of coffee since the 9th wasn't at the top of the list for this brainstorming.
"The 9th Fighter Wing would be a day-one target for any Erusean attack. Any day-one targets would see the maximum effort applied against them. It would be reasonable to assume that we should plan without them." Clemens intoned.
"That assumes we just sit down and let the Eruseans clean our clock, sir." Rodriguez replied.
The formality was just shy of forced, but Clemens had something to back him up. He shifted and nodded, then picked up a sheet of paper.
"Intelligence indicates that this conclusion assumes that you have all forces at a steady of readiness."
"The same intelligence that indicates the Eruseans have the equivalent of two wings within striking distance. Assuming they don't commit more from further away. One wing is centered on Carver C and Ds, while the other is split between Lindwurms and Kondor Gs. Satellite imagery has also picked up that they have UAV launch stations augmenting their own air defenses."
"Yes, but-"
"We have a single wing of F-22s, supported by four KC-10s and an equal number of E-3G Sentries. The Osean Army has also deployed two batteries of MIM-104F Patriots. The San Salvacion Defense Force's air component boasts 32 F-16C Fighting Falcons. Older block models, but ones with AMRAAM capability."
Clemens felt his ears redden a bit, but before he could speak, General Taylor had a question.
"What's your average scramble time, Rodriguez?"
"Four minutes following the scramble alert. We're trying to shave about thirty seconds off it. We also have four birds on patrol at any given time, with a tanker on standby and an AWACS orbiting over San Salvacion proper. The locals are sticking to their usual routine; we try to arrange intercepts with them at least a few times a week."
Taylor nodded again and looked at the others gathered.
"Well, not to focus everything on one wing…I believe that the most obvious solution is the best. The Eruseans wish to show what they can do, so we'll show what we can do in response."
"I propose that we use Colonel Colin's idea. Building on it, I believe that we should demonstrate that we know how the Eruseans will respond. I bloody know how they will." Air Commodore David Carrington of the Millon Royal Air Force growled.
"We believe that the Eruseans are in the process of refining their tactics, Commodore." Clemens interjected hurriedly.
Taylor gave the man a silencing glare while the Commodore simply nodded.
"Forgive my flippant remark. But even then, they aren't going to radically change things overnight. That kind of change takes months, years even."
"I know Erusean tactics, Commodore, but care to expand on your remarks?" Taylor asked.
"General Clemens is right; the 9th Fighter Wing will be a day-one target. However, it won't be the most important. That honor, in my estimation, goes to the Arsenal Birds. Would you concur, General Clemens?"
"Yes, the Arsenal Birds would be a priority target for any Erusean offensive. Both strategically and symbolically."
A man in flecktarn fatigues leaned forward to be acknowledged. Oberst Martin Frenkel stayed seated; he had only a little to say compared to the others.
"Touching on an old subject, The Federal Minister of Defence informed me this morning that the Bundestag and the Bundesrat have voted to commit a full wing of aircraft to peacekeeping operations in southern Usea. The wing will be a provisional unit consisting of Typhoons and Tornadoes. The Minister as well as the Inspector of the Air Force asked for my recommendations. Commodore, would there be room for at least part of this wing at the RAF base on Tyler Island?" He intoned in an accented voice.
"Easily, and it would allow us to expand the size of temporary detachments at the facility. How many squadrons of each, Colonel?" Carrington mused.
"One squadron of each. The Tornado squadron is, itself, a mixed formation. It is divided evenly between IDS and ECR variants."
"I'd recommend we put the Typhoons there, since 17 Squadron is the home unit."
As the others bantered, all Clemens could think of were the estimates his command had reached. The situation looked grim either way, and in truth the only things he could effectively put his faith in were the Arsenal Birds. They brought overwhelming firepower to the fight. Enough to negate their logistical shortcomings. Especially when Tyler Island would also be a day-one target. Both platforms could be positioned to overwhelm the Eruseans, allowing more conventional elements to take the offensive. Taylor could still have all his pie-in-the sky stuff about the importance of the integration of manned aircraft and unmanned aircraft. In that, he saw an opportunity.
"General, if I may?" He spoke up the second there was a pause between conversations.
"Yes, General?" Taylor intoned.
"If I could make a suggestion, I think showing the capabilities of the Arsenal Birds would be a good idea to consider. Besides demonstrating our resolve, it would allow us to conduct a practical test of the platforms. Figure out where we may need to adjust things." He explained."
"I second that. Would let us figure out how to integrate the things into our overall strategy." Colin agreed.
The rest of the officers seemed to find no reason to outright object. Clemens felt a bit of contentment return to him as he was again proven right and valuable…
Marcy was never particularly excited when people got starry-eyed about her profession. Because they didn't understand that flying was only half of it. Every pilot in the squadron played two roles. In Marcy's case, it was being the 506th's Administrative Officer. Her brother was lucky, they thought; his second role was to know everything about his plane. He planned to go on to be an LSO; a job whose purpose was lost on an Air Force type like her. The lanky flyer walked down one of the halls of the squadron headquarters building, checklist in hand. She arrived at the office that Knocker shared with his protégé, one Aubrey Hale. The First Lieutenant known more commonly as "Brownie" gave her roommate a smile.
"What's up, Elf?" She asked.
"I'm here to yell at your boss for being late on his CBRN qualification flight. And since this is one of the few times I get to yell at him, I'm figuring out how to do it. Especially for making me walk over here." She announced, looking at Thomas's desk.
"I did mine already…right?" The younger Eagle driver asked.
"My dearest Brownie, you were the first one after the Colonel to do so. I thank you for that. Maybe you should be the one setting an example for him."
Knocker was very pointedly ignoring her at the moment because of her mild theatrics. At least until he got to the part where he accepted that she wasn't going away.
"Do I need to break it down Barney Style for you? Cause I know you have a bad habit of catching ear worms. Just think, you'll have that dopey T-Rex's laugh in your head."
Thomas sighed and typed something on his laptop before he turned around.
"Do you have to do this every time you come down the hall?" He grumbled.
"You made me do this! And besides, being the Admin is mind-numbingly boring. If I wanna stay sane, I gotta spice it up." She retorted.
"Well, I have an excuse to postpone it."
"That's the same thing Mongo and Jewels said to me."
Thomas held up a sheaf of paper with a look of relief on his face. Marcy took it and held it out a little as Aubrey peeked over her shoulder. It was an email from the operations staff of the 19th Fighter Wing. The subject line contained a single acronym: Joint Services Exercise.