Ace Combat: Ashes of War (IC/Closed)

by **Langenia** » Sat Jul 31, 2021 11:54 am

2nd Lieutenant Jose "Spectre" Villanueva

Everything had been going pretty good so far, well, as good as it could get when one was fighting a steady stream of enemy troops, vehicles, and aircraft in a raging storm and temperatures below freezing, which, admittedly, wasn't very good. But still, the Emmerian air cover had been doing a good job of supporting the troops on the ground defending the Toredo Munitions Factory, destroying enemy forces below and their air support. That was, until, a dozen new Estovakian fighters arrived.

Rusalka-1: <<Colonel Stroika. Your defection has forced our hand. We had hoped to try and get you to return for a proper trial, but we can see your mind has been poisoned. There's no other explanation for your association with these hired guns, these honorless beasts with no nation. Judicar, take the mercenaries out. Heretic, level the ground facilities, it matters little to our war effort.>>

Spectre: <<We got company!>>

Honorless beasts with no nation?!, Villanueva fumed in his head. He needed the money for his family! He was rudely jolted from these thoughts by a sound that forebode trouble: the sound that indicated someone had locked onto his Fitter. He immediately pulled hard on the stick and climbed steeply to break the lock, almost like a rocket. Villanueva grunted as he felt the strain of G-forces on his body. Pushing the stick forward to bring the nose down, he looked around in search of the aircraft that had locked onto him. For a moment, he couldn't find it. Then, he saw a Stovie MiG-21 Fishbed flying below. Judging from its position, that was most likely the plane that had locked onto him. He hesitated for a millisecond.

Although he had decent air-to-air combat skills, they were better for defensive action or with the element of surprise rather than offensive without surprise, meaning a dogfight would be difficult for him. His specialty was in air-to-ground combat. But in that split-second decision, he decided to ignore all that and dive after the MiG, opening fire with his NR-30 gun.

Spectre: <<Gun.>>

He missed. Cursing, he brought the Fitter out of the dive and sped up after the Fishbed. He was in the thick of the dogfight now. The next few moments would be what Villanueva later considered the most difficult of his career as a military pilot. He perceived the dogfight as the most difficult one he had ever been involved in. His eyes were busy, keeping the MiG-21 in his line of sight and watching out for other aircraft to avoid a mid-air collision. The two planes dived, climbed, turned left and right.

That enemy pilot is good, Villanueva thought to himself. The Estovakian pilot had been unable to shake Villanueva off his tail, but had prevented him from getting a good lock on his plane. Suddenly, the MiG dived. Villanueva dived after it. But in front of him was a dark mass: ground. Solid ground that could turn him and his plane to a smoking wreck of pieces. Reacting quickly, he pulled up, narrowly avoiding a crash and a maneuvering kill for the Fishbed pilot.

Disregarding the fact that it was the enemy pilot's job to kill him, Villanueva cursed the Stovie for almost costing him his life. He was angry now, and wanted more than ever to shoot him down. He realized he could no longer see the Estovakian MiG-21. He banged his fist on the right side of the canopy. He wanted revenge. Then, out of the edge of his peripheral vision, he saw it: the Fishbed. It was flying slowly, presumably because the pilot thought he had done away with Spectre. Villanueva quickly made a plan, intent on pulling up right below the Stovie fighter, catching the pilot by surprise, and firing his last R-60 missile into the engine.

Usually, because he specialized in air-to-ground combat he would be wary of flying at this low altitude due to the threats of AA guns, MANPADs, and SAMs. But now he was mad and more reckless, his ability to plan and take these factors into account deteriorating. He sped up to subsonic speeds for the third time in the mission, really pushing the AL-21 engine to its limits. The MiG had begun to climb. The pilot had probably figured out he was still alive and after him, and was getting ready to make his escape. That made Villanueva's window to shoot him down shrink every second he wasted.

Being the proficient ground-attacker that he was he noticed of a pair of BMP-2 IFVs and Estovakian infantry attacking an allied position as he followed the MiG. He made a mental note to come back and destroy them after dealing with the Fishbed. He was right below it now. He pulled up and fired his last AAM.

Spectre: <<Fox 2.>>

The missile hit the part of the underside right below the engine. It caused a small explosion and a fire that took out the engine. The fire spread, and smoke trailed from the MiG-21 as it fell back down to earth. Almost robotically, Villanueva said:

Spectre: <<Splash one enemy Fishbed.>>

He turned around, the destroyed Estovakian fighter falling down from the sky in his wake. Now that he had dealt with the MiG, he would deal with the enemy BMPs. Once he had the targets in his sights, he unleashed two S-8 rockets on one of the BMPs. The first rocket damaged it, the next blew it to pieces. He proceeded to strafe the Stovie infantry with his NR-30 and came around for another pass, destroying the last BMP in the same fashion and again strafing the enemy soldiers. Climbing again, he reported the kills.

Spectre: <<Enforcer 7, confirming destruction of two enemy BMP-2s. Winchester on air-to-air missiles.>>

by **Tayner** » Sat Jul 31, 2021 6:57 pm

Captain Samuel 'Merlin' Daniel
December 13th, 2015 // Toredo Valley, Emmeria

Dan had allowed his flight to engage targets freely, and engage they did. Objective Bravo was almost completely cleaned out of targets with the help of the Emmerian Nationals. Dan cleared his flight to cross into other AOs to continue striking targets with extreme prejudice. The operation was going well, minus one snag, getting munitions not encased in ice to the Marines at the Annex. Vigil and Mooncalf were doing good keeping the ground clear and Rattler was keeping the skies equally safe for Corporal Sullivan, who had to all but navigate a gauntlet of Estovakian ground and air forces to make it to their destination. Well, that'll most certainly be interesting. Dan thought as he climbed, maintaining a holding pattern at the factory as he watched two MiG-25s come towards the building. Fun indeed.

Witness, however, had been subject to a bounty. It pained Dan to be unable to help, but he knew that the rest of Assassin would have to suffice. He had confidence in their abilities.

Merlin: << Alright Assassin Flight, you keep Assassin Six covered. I'm currently indisposed at the factory. You know what to do. >>

Heretic-3: << Do not worry, mercenary, you will shortly be free to roam the deck at your pleasure. Until you freeze. >>

A voice, heavily accented in Estovakian taunted.

The introduction of a Seianese pilot was something interesting. Much more so given that their employer had insulted the mercenaries while having a mercenary in their employ. The war in Seian was long gone however, and Dan knew that mention of him being a sellsword there would likely irritate the pilot more, given how their real employer saw fit to turn them onto the Seianese themselves. Even if Dan was shot down, explaining his role in the war and the complexity of the situation over comms was not feasible. The world had probably forgotten that war however, but Dan didn't.

He dove back down, able to keep a favorable angle of attack on the second Foxbat after Voron claimed their own kill. The two were almost head on, Dan being able to get a lock just long enough. The Foxbat went evasive before Dan could even launch his missile, but launch it Dan did. The sidewinder flew through the blizzard, and exploded, but Dan knew it was trashed. However, it had served its purpose, forcing the Foxbat to roll out and dive, ejecting countermeasures and breaking off it's attack run. As Dan buzzed over top of the Foxbat, he pulled his aircraft into a risky split-s maneuver, his stall warning screaming at him due to the quick turn. The g-forces weighed on him, but Dan pulled off the maneuver. The Foxbat countered with a Immelmann turn, effectively mirroring Dan's maneuver. The Foxbat could gain speed at a much faster rate than Dan, and the time he had bought was running out.

Heritic-3: << That was the best you can do? Hard to believe you are the same pilots from Vitoze. >>

Merlin: << This tango isn’t over yet. >>

The Foxbat would likely bank and come around, performing a low yo-yo maneuver to get back on course for his target or to get the speed to easily boom and zoom over Dan. While the MiG-25 was fast, it wasn't a circle fighter, and Dan was able to get inside of the Foxbat’s turning radius and counter with his own, tighter yo-yo. His plan was simple yet tricky, force the faster plane to overshoot him, while exposing himself as a target, effectively the playing bait in his own trap. His RWR sounded as the Foxbat closed in behind him, setting up his kill. Dan went full burn, dumping countermeasures and pulling up into a flat scissors maneuver, the missile trashed as the two pilots now played the game of cat and mouse, Dan once again serving as the cat. They weaved up and down, Dan trying to feign a missile lock as he tried to line up guns.

Heretic-3: << Sranje! How did that miss? >>

Merlin: << This won’t. Guns! >>

Tracers peppered the rear of the Foxbat, impacting the port engine. The Foxbat changed it's defense now, jinking as much as it could, however once one of it's engines flamed out, it had no chance of putting out enough power to escape a missile lock, lest they dive themselves into the ground.

Heretic-3: << Well played, for a dog. >>

Merlin: << I dinnae envy you. Fox two.... Tally one Foxbat. >>

The MiG-25 went down in a blaze of glory, the pilot simply ejecting, knowing the chances of trashing the missile were slim to none. Dan once again climbed, perching over the factory like a snake in the trees above, ready to defend it if push came to shove again.

by **Hastur** » Sat Jul 31, 2021 9:02 pm

MISSION 03.5: OPERATION GARM
First Lieutenant Miriam “Rattler” Lochte
December 13th 2015
Toredo Valley, Khesed Island, Emmeria

Mooncalf and vigils fullback made swift work of what survived of the column. The 30mm GSH auto-cannon shattered what little security the thin armour of the BMPs extended, while their 250kg bombs annihilated their T-72Bs. Their efforts shifted the enemy vehicles into gleaming tinderboxes that contrasted against the polar scene. But alas, more came, eager on stopping the truck seeking to cut across the field.

Miriam’s eyes latched onto a shape to port. Overly large for an APC, but had a more distinct, angled silhouette unlike the T-72Bs. The large vehicle sought to cut through the vacant ground, seeking to install itself into a stronger position. It’s speed slow as it dodged several steep ditches and crags that would threaten their mobility. Soon enough, if it was operating thermals, it would be within a position to engage. With her being the closest, Miriam had very few options of left in her deck of cards. But she had an idea.

Rattler << Vigil. I got eyes on a tank on my port side low. Looks like he’s about to launch some serious hate towards Sully and the truck. Might need your help with this one.>>

Miriam brought the plane low, gliding on a trajectory facing the tank as it cruised around a narrow crack, twisting and winding past the metallic remains of their armoured battalion. Slowing, her hand began inputting the commands for her plan. Her hand twisting the jettison button, arrow pointing towards the fuel tank option, her finger primed to strike the red button inward, eyes locked on the shape as it grew clearer and clearer. Miriam knew it had to be precise for it to work.

T-14 Armata: << Christ, they're all dead! Ignore that. Focus on what's ahead, get us whe--Shit! enemy air incoming! Son of a bitch! Back up! back up! Back the fuck up! >>

Her finger pushed down. From their perspective, the mirage had emerged from the blind, and now two objects were descending rapidly. The external fuel tanks released from their seal as they plunged down on a line towards the tank. The crew panicked and began reversing back briskly; crew firing their smoke screen as it sought to do anything to disrupt it from what they expected to be coming. Miriam couldn’t make out the effect of her deception as she began pulling back up.

T-14 Armata: << A Dud?! No, you idiot! It was their external tanks! Driver forward! Forward! We can’t. We backed up into a god damned ditch! We’ll get us unstuck or next time it won’t be fuel tanks! >>

Her gambit had paid off, buying the truck a slim fragment of breathing room to capitalise on. The sense of achievement was quickly countered, Miriam’s brief smile deleted with the whistling note of a missile lock. Judicar’s MiG-21-97 had caught up. The fish bed entering a combative angle as it entered its assault. Despite the antique model of it, this version was refurbished, strapped with different turbines and a myriad of technological features. Enough to outperform the fowl that she flew in.

The electronic yelling grew distinctive. Miriam barely had time to reflect on it.

Rattler: << I’m painted, going evasive! >>

Judicars heat-seeking missile disengaged from its mount, boosters activating as it hurtled towards the target. Miriam turned her head, watching as it left a contrail in its wake. She broke off, throwing the plane into a sharp right turn toward it, burning her energy as she attempted to duke the seeker. But in this weather, she knew the task was going to take luck without flares. All she could do now was pray.

Her vison tunnelled, vision greying as she got light-headed, her body locked against her flight chair as she choked for air through grated teeth. The plane suddenly swayed. A momentary corner of a flash off caught her attention. The missile had trashed near to the cockpit. Violent winds had driven it off target, leaving it to do scant damage.

She flattened out the plane, drawing a concise exclamation for air braking out of the turn, a sense of exhaustion rearing itself. The MIG was within gun range now, a second missile would not miss. The moment of respite faded as she opened into rolling scissors manoeuvre. Mirage reversing into a vertical climb, turning into a series of barrel rolls. Tracers darted past, red lines slicing through the white sky as the fish-bed followed the mirage into the turning battle. The pair of planes dancing in the sky as they both attempted to seize the advantage.

It was an arduous task. The MIG continued to hold all the cards; the mirage struggling as it dulled, energy being burned at a profound rate. A second missile launched, whirling through the air, cross winds winding through the air exploding off to the right side of the cockpit.

The flash was sharper this time; the mirage convulsed fiercely, the unexpected movement this time accompanied by an acute jab of agony. To her right, the windshield cracked, her blood stuttered over the translucent shield where the thin gaps rested. Her collar and abdomen seared, Miriam letting out an instinctive cry as the wind was knocked out of her. Miriam pressed the plane out of the manoeuvre on instinct, going to split S as she lunged. The MIG broke off as she did, manoeuvring into a better position, doing what it could to regain its energy.

Impulses took over as the bleak breeze whispered into the cockpit. Miriam’s right hand rattled against the joystick as she analysed herself. Her eyes snapped onto the piece of metal in her stomach whilst her left palm felt at her neck, something intrusive being lodged within her skin, the warmth of her own blood being felt through the security of the mitt. Her eyes widened, face scrunching up as dread was flying wild as her injury ached. The feud looked stacked now; the mirage’s speed had been scorched. It was now being merely a matter of time until the MIG scored it one last stroke that would knock her out.

Her best option now was the spiral. Miriam focused, a renewed flutter of energy taking over as The MIG getting back into position for the hunt as she dove, losing attitude rapidly as she spiralled groundward. The hostile followed. The two spinning as the number on the altimeter spun, the number descending lower and lower.

Pull up. Pull up.

The automated female voice yelled, the MiG was following her in tight as it chased her into the ground, far closer than it should. Her shaking hand gripped the throttle, yanking it downward, engines fading, plane slowing. Tracers darted past briefly as it used the moment to shoot, the red lines drawing her eyes to a series of crimson routes soaking into the splintered glass. The ground was now visible as the portrait of the hunter passing right over the top, overshooting massively, failing to predict the sudden slowing. For a flash, the reticule matched with the glow of the hostile plane’s engines.

Rattler: << Guns! >>

Pain resonated through Miriam’s statement as her shaking hands depressed the trigger.

Pull up. Pull up.

Green tracers launched forward, the mirages claws rupturing the fuselage of the plane, black blots spraying against the windshield as the MIG descended. For a moment, it looked as if it was about to draw away of the coil, but the craft's attempt to secure elevation failed. The MIG abruptly dropped out of the sky.

At their altitude, there was no chance to eject.

For a second, the destruction was unmistakable. The plane scraped the ground with tremendous force, cracking and disintegrating into hundreds of parts, a crisp white blur of sleet catapulting itself around it, the mirage flying directly over the crash site. Climbing from the low altitude back upward to the sky.

The relief brought fresh concerns. The pain growing stronger as she grew colder, her own blood staining her flight suit and the windshield as a small whistle came from the gaps. Her hand grappled onto the chunk of metal sticking out of stomach before ruling against it. She wasn’t bleeding heavily, but removing it could make it worse, and she was still needed. Enemies still occupied the airspace.

Rattler << Scratch one bandit, took some sharpnel to my cockpit, I’ve been hit. Moving to assist. >>

by **Ubaria** » Mon Aug 02, 2021 6:58 pm

_{December 13th
0940 Hours - Local Time
Dana Fischer
Toredo Valley, Republic of Emmeria}

Snow swirled around Dana as if she was stuck in a novelty snowglobe. In every observable direction, visibility was mired by sheets of drifting white that showed no signs of relenting soon. Cut off from radio contact with the rest of her squadron, Dana had been completely reliant on her own instinct to undertake her mission, hunting for more targets on the ground which was a difficult task given the apparent conditions and the glaring lack of imaging systems the Draken had compared to modern jets of a similar role, it had meant she had to hug the ground at a dangerously low altitude to make out anything in the blur of white and grey.

Painstaking minutes followed her previous kill, she had looped back around in the hopes of locating more targets though no such luck, they had either scrambled away in a panic or she had lost her way in the snow. Just as she was about to climb in an attempt to locate her flight, a curious pattern caught her attention not too far below. More rectangular blocks, moving and weaving in the snow, though all were following one another like a snake, the lead vehicle cutting an apparent course through the drifts for it's comrades to follow. As Dana passed, the lead vehicle in the convoy seemed to stop, holding the rest of the formation up.

--

"Tolshev you idyot, how did you not see it?"

"I can't see shit! It's a fucking blizzard, everything looks white!"

"It's a ten foot ditch! Reverse the fucking tank"

A series of questionable mechanical sounds followed, including a metallic whining and clanking that proceeded for several seconds before ceasing, the embedded tank failing to move even an inch, forward or backwards. A string of Estovakian curses spewing from the driver's mouth.

"We're stuck, i think the right track has come off"

"Brilliant! So we're stuck!" The commander thumped angrily on the cupola, more expelatives followed though this time from the commander, including a few choice words about the driver's mother. An uneasy silence gripped the vehicle.

<< Lazar 1-1 to all Lazar vehicles. Lead vehicle is immobilized due to the terrain. 2-1 take point and avoid our path ... >>

<< Copy Lazar 1-1. Proceeding to target point >>

--

Dana pushed a wide arc around the area, ensuring to keep her attack vector so that she would approach the convoy from the rear and straight overhead, rather than come in at an angle. From a perch high above, Dana started bringing the aircraft down at a thirty degree angle, lining up the pipper on her Heads up Display with the trailing tank, rather rapidly an indicator on the hud dropped down the left hand side of the display into a bracketed area, indicating her weapon of choice, the 135mm rockets, were in their prime deployment zone. Without hesitation she depressed the weapons release, the entire Draken shuddering with the force of two dozen rockets flying from their housing. The first few fell short, though however as her plane travelled overhead, the creeping barrage of rockets quickly rained over the convoy of four armored vehicles.

Travelling quickly, Dana was already past the convoy and too far away to observe her damage in full, though in the brief moments she did manage to watch her rockets impact well within their predicted hard kill distance, if not directly impacting the enemy and she could be fairly confident that they did their job, rendering the tanks inoperable, if not outright destroyed.

Sirin
Armament
1x 30mm ADEN cannon (100 Rounds)
2x Rb-24 (AiM-9)
1x 1000lb Bomb
0x 135mm HEAT Rocket

Kills
1x T-72
4x T-72B2

by **Vacif** » Wed Aug 04, 2021 4:05 pm

OPERATION GARM
2nd Lieutenant Bernard “Witness” Leavit
December 13th 2015 // Khesed Island, Emmeria

The hunt was on, the F5 punched through the blizzard trashing missiles left and right, the blizzard drastically impeding targeting for both Witness and Shinigami. It was a blessing and a curse as once Witness could get a shot on Shinigami, he would be faced with the same issues, even with the Sniper pod. That is, if he could egress and get a shot on Shinigami.

Witness: << So, not even going to introduce yourself? >>

Bernard began to talk, perhaps as a coping mechanism? Something to get his mind off of his situation. It was a catch 22, dodge the missile and ice up, or maintain speed and eat a missile. One would lead to an immediate end, the other would end with a slightly later demise. At least his pursuer was in the same spot as him.

Shinigami: << I am the Shinigami, that which will claim your soul. >>

Witness: << That’s a bit dramatic, what’s the bounty looking like? >>

Shinigami: << If money is all you care for, 1.5 million Osean dollars. >>

Witness: << Well, who did I kill to earn that sum? >>

That was a lot of money, more than what most people were getting paid. It makes sense that a bounty hunter in the sixth gen would take it. Had he killed some kind of general? A Stovie big wig’s loved one? This was no small feat.

Shinigami: << Your ignorance speaks much about you. It’s not who you’ve killed but how you’ve done it. Do you not have shame? Not even realizing the error of your ways? Firing on retreating men. >>

That gave Witness a bit of mental pause as he dodged another missile, almost as if Shinigami was trying to mentally stun him before a missile. That said, Witness noticed his hunter had fired a fairly large number of missiles. ‘Is he deliberately firing missiles to make me evade and ice up? It was a slick idea.

Witness: << That’s well and all, but in war we don’t always have the luxury of doing the right thing. >>

Howling wind and red tracers screamed past the cockpit, almost as if that were the bounty hunter’s answer.

Shinigami: << Then you lack the conviction that others do. You realize what you’ve done is wrong and yet… you still do it. You didn’t have to fire on those men. Shameful. >>

He could hear genuine disappointment coming from the hunter. It appeared personal principle reigned above all else. And maybe, he was right.

Witness: << So, personal principle and convictions is what drives you huh? I guess bounty hunting gives you that kind of lee way. >>

Shinigami: << I can still strike down my enemies with righteousness without shooting them in the back. >>

Witness: << Point. >>

‘Well technically you are shooting me in the back right now…..’ Bernard figured he’d keep the comment to himself.

The war had not been going well for Emmeria, the logical thing would be to strike each and every single enemy down any way they could, but there were lines. These lines got blurry sometimes, especially in the heat of the moment. If he survived the next few minutes then perhaps there would be a change in his conduct. But as the ice began to build up, and the RWR began to ring, it began to look like the end.

Bones: << Now you didn’t forget about the rest of us did you? >>

As if a second chance had presented itself on a platter, a familiar Tornado broke through the storm. A missile jetted out from the wings towards the Shinden, arching, twisting and winding through the air before exploding in the storm. The Shinden gracefully dodged the missile but was now on the back foot as it now had its own problem to deal with, even momentarily. And in the storm, that was more than enough time for Witness to turn things around.

Bones: << Fox two! >>

Shinigami: << This isn’t your fight Mercenary. >>

Bones: << The hell it isn’t! >>

Witness knew the Tornado wasn’t built for what Bones was doing. He needed to turn things around and fast. He was in a maneuverable plane for its time but in the modern day, he was in a tight squeeze. The F5 began to pull three, four, five, six Gs as he reorientated to engage the Shinden. He wasn’t feeling so good but he could tough it out.

By chance or by fate the two planes found themselves on a head on course. Bones could see what was happening and peeled off.

Witness: << Fox two! >>

Both planes fired a missile, arching towards each respective pilot, the Shinden’s ECM dealt with the AIM-9P while Witness did a fanciful spin to dodge out of the way. Still though both planes were on direct intercept courses with each other. Cannons roared from both planes as they neared each other. Bernard could feel heavy metal thunks reverberating through his plane as the planes jousted. But for the Shinden, it began to lose altitude. The M39’s cannons had punched right into the Shinden’s fuselage and engine. He wasn’t dead, not by a longshot, but he would not be finishing this fight.

Shinigami: << So that’s the way fate has decided it. >>

Witness: << I’ll be seeing you around. >>

Bones: << Looks like you’ve got him. C’mon Sully still needs support. >>

Witness: << Thanks for the save Five. >>

Witness looked over his shoulder at the Sixth Gen as it disappeared into the blizzard. He’d be back, more determined than ever. He’d been saved by luck and his team. For that he was thankful for. The two planes formed up and flew ahead of Sully’s path. Assassin Five made the first pass with devastating effect.

Bones: << Assassin Five, Pave. >>

Three GBU-58s rained from the sky, snow, dirt and steel exploded through the air as a combined amount of 1500 pounds of H6 slammed into the enemy armour column. A T-14, and two T-72B2s ground to a halt, now burning husks.

Witness: << Good kill Five, scratch three tanks. >>

Now it was time for Six to make their play. A T-72B2 tank platoon in perfect drilled formation was bearing down on the road that their friend running the Gauntlet would be nearing soon.

Witness: << Assassin Six, four times, pickle. >>

The GPS guided bombs hit in quick succession. One after another, the platoon was annihilated with deadly efficiency. As Six began to egress and go in for another run, Five began their next attack run.

Bones: <<Assassin Five, Pickle, Pave. >>

This time, two munitions dropped. One was guided in and the other dropped. The 500 lb bomb tore into a formation of BMP2s, The entire area kicked up a massive wall of snow and dirt. The platoon simply ceased to exist. The last of the paveways would find a T-72B2 which was guarding the BMP2 platoon. It’s burnt husk grinded to a halt abruptly.

Bones: << Assassin Five, scratch four BMPs, and one T-72B. I’m winchester on all AGM munitions. >>

Like a cycle, Five would go out and Six would go in.

Witness: << Assassin Six, pickle, five times. >>

Witness mopped up the rest of the T-72B2s that Bones had begun to engage. The other three T-72B2s in the first one’s platoon also ceased to exist. Two more munitions were launched to finish off the T-14 platoon while its companion was trapped in a ditch, ironically saving it from immediate death.

Witness: <<Assassin Six, scratch 2 T-14s and 3 T-72B2s.>>

By the end of the run, Bones had knocked out one T-14, three T-72B2s, and four BMP2s, while Witness had deleted seven T-72B2s and two T-14s.

by **Anowa** » Sat Aug 07, 2021 9:08 pm

Cpl. Manuel "Sully" Sullivan, Pte. Michael Morgan and Pte. Hannah "Nelly" O'Neill
0941, December 13th 2015 // Khesed Island, Emmeria

"Alright... Alright. Nelly, you keep your foot down until we hit friendly trenches, no matter what. Morgan, if Nelly gets hit you take the wheel and try and guide us. Both of you fucking pray our engine block or tranny don't get fucking ruined."

With that, the man swung down what looked like a seat from the ceiling, and popped open a hatch that wasn't standard for Belkan vehicles of the same model. An armoured cupola with an M2 wasn't standard issue for the Emmerian armed forces either, but the Marines ordered a number of 8x8s in such a configuration for a force multiplier in logistics convoys.

Racking the bolt as he took his seat, Sully took note of the tips of the rounds in the belt, and took a deep breath through his balaclava. He could hear the engines of hostile vehicles as their own joined the cacophony.

Soon enoigh, he could see shapes through the wind, the dark land based camos of the Estovakian army doing about as many favors as the Emmerian camo. No doubt both sides saw each other at the same time, but given the MAN was moving at close to highway speeds already, few vehicles actually managed to fire anything.

Bullets started pinging off the composite applique on the vehicle, one cracking the ballistic glass plate to his weapon's right. Sully quite earnestly almost shat himself when the whip-crack of autocannon shells ripped over his head. That was preliminary, almost an instant afterwards, the sound of small arms fire bounding off the hull, the glass, the tires, everything that was on the truck really. Sully's ears went monotone trying to compensate, furthermore when he started firing back at roughly human shapes with the M2. He spotted several points in the metal shield surrounding him buckle as rounds hit dead on, leaving mounds of caught bullets and cracked paint. Than as soon as it started, it ended.

They had moved through the line in the west, and were clear until the bridge, and subsequently the line in the east.

Sully had heard calls that shit was getting wrecked over the radio, but there was no indication to him as to where or what it was. Although he spotted a few flaming wrecks around them as they moved onwards, he knew they didn't account for all those calls.

"Nelly, how're we doing?!"

"I can't see a fucking thing anymore!"

Ducking his head down, he spotted the reason why. There was maybe three square inches right above the dashboard where they wasn't a spider web of cracks or gouged out ballistic glass. Same for Morgan's side, well, almost.

Morgan's side of the vehicle had a torso sized hole blown through the windshield and the door window. Likely some kind of autocannon shell that came in at an angle.

"Morgan?"

The only response was a choked back sob, and a slow to start nod. The man was clutching his rifle to his chest for dear life.

They still had one ordeal left, as Nelly started to slow to make the turn on to the bridge.

by **Kyraina** » Tue Aug 10, 2021 1:55 pm

Spyro “Drifter” Beretta, Lion 1, Griffin Lead
Toredo Valley, Emmeria

Drifter flew the FA-50 in a holding pattern and listened to the new intel and what was going on before making a plan of action.
“God, Really Drifter? You forgot to pair people up? What were you a Trash Hauler before this?”

“Yeah Gorgon, I was. I flew C-130s and C-17s for the 1st Tactical Lift Squadron in Gracemeria. I’m use to going solo, and if I do have another plane, the pilots that think for themselves, not having to hand hold and issue commands. SO shut up. Besides you are my back seat, you are supposed to remind me of this shit.”

“You are an ass, you know that?”

“Yeah, Yeah, Yeah. Just get us another target in this soup.”

Gorgon went back to looking at instruments, and spotted a couple of T-80UMs moving through the soup in the East towards the Annex.

“Got a couple T-80s coming out of the East, towards the Annex.”

“Copy That, Let’s force feed them a healthy diet of Mavericks.”

Gorgon flashed a thumbs up, chose the AGM-65F, and gave Drifter the heading for the attack.

Drifter: <<Lion Flight, Lion 1. Those that have Air to Ground, hit the Targets coming out of the East Side Valley Mouth. Those with just Air to Air Move to Help Lion 4. Got Separated from Lion 4 when those Stovie Fighter Reinforcements showed up. Haven’t heard a peep from him since. Eagle 1 go home, before some Stovie shoves a missile up your tail pipe. Lion 1 Out.>>

Gorgon: <<Lion 1. Rifle x2. Lion 1. Rifle x2>>

The FA-50 approached the two T-80UMs, and Gorgon sent one Mav off the rail towards the first T-80UM. The Arena APS system on the T-80UM activated but between the speed of the Mav, the weather, and a last minute adjustment on part of Gorgon, and so the Areana missed. The mav impacted into the Engine bay of the T-80UM, and the tank went up in a howl of flames.

She sent the second and last Mav off the rails and repeated the same pattern, again causing the T-80UM to miss, and this tank as well went up into flames.

Gorgon: <<Lion 1, Two T-80s down, I repeat two T-80s down.>>

“Gorgon, Warm up those Winders, we are going to go help Dragon.”

“Copy that Drifter. Warming them up…………. Contact coming in on our six.”

Drifter went into evasive maneuvers as the RWR sounded, but quickly went quiet as he broke into a split s. Gorgon was looking furiously, and had quickly spotted the MiG-21-97 that belonged to the last Member of Judicar.

Drifter went to engage the Upgraded Fishbed but saw the Fishbed had already changed targets and was going to Engage the F-4 of Tricky. Gorgon spotted it.

"Drifter, that bastard going after Tricky, she's a sitting brick."

"Okay, get me a lock with those winders. We got lock and fire after she breaks."

Gorgon: <<Tricky, you got a bogey on your six. We are coming in on his Six. Break when I tell you.>>

OPERATION GARM
2nd Lieutenant Ciara “Tricky” Sharp
December 13th 2015 // Khesed Island, Emmeria

Tricky was aware she was in a shitty spot, the Mig had a higher energy than her flying brick, no matter how much power she pumped into the engines. The Mig had flown in on a lag pursuit, either because they came in too hot and didn’t want to risk overshooting, or because they wanted her to bleed speed and potentially ice up in flight. She could luckily still see her tail if just barely in the blizzard. She could maybe shake her tail but egressing to engage the modernized plane was going to be much more difficult.

Gorgon: <<Tricky, you got a bogey on your six. We are coming in on his Six. Break when I tell you.>>

Tricky: << Just say when Lion 1. >>[/b]

She was glad she wasn’t alone, she had her flight after all. In these whiteout conditions. Ciara was glad she had that bit of friendly radio chatter directed at her to remind her of her allies. IFFs on a white and grey canvas didn’t do a very good job of reminding her she had friends. That said, she had noticed a remarkable decrease in enemy IFFs in the air space, either because they were out of range due to the blizzard or more likely because they were no longer active.

All she needed to do was survive until help arrived. “You got this Trick.” A first impacted her right shoulder. “Show ‘em what you’ve got.” Her WSO reassured her.

“You sure you want me to?”

“Well I mean the alternative is death.”

“Well you can’t complain anymore Douglas.”

With no further hesitation, she put everything she had into her maneuvering. At this stage, the drop tank had been spent, so she dropped the dead weight. The empty canister landed harmlessly on the snow below. The low hum of a passive lock buzzed through the cockpit.

“Hard spike!”

The Phantom spat out a salvo of chaff as it began to dive. Tricky boosted power to her engines and did a series of winding displacement rolls. An artifact from her days as a stunt pilot, it was flashy and not completely practical but combined with the pressure of a new plane, the blizzard and the irregularity of her moves, well luck more than anything allowed her to trash the missiles.

This time the modernized Fishbed was closing in for guns. The aircraft was faster with its modernized guns and much more maneuverable. If she were the one above, she could have hit and split but that just wasn’t how things worked out. Instead Tricky initiated a wingover. She could feel the plane beginning to ice up as she climbed. But the maneuver was working as intended, the Mig was having a hard time tracking her. Her already sluggish controls were beginning to become even less effective.

She needed distance, she needed speed, or she’d have more than just the Mig on her hands. Tricky initiated a low Yo-Yo and began to drop as rounds zipped by her tail. The plane began to push four Gs as she plummeted and pulled back around. The Mig was quick to catch on however as they now had the height advantage. The last plane of Judicar began a boom and zoom.

Gorgon: << Break! >>

Ciara jerked the controls hard without hesitation, sharply turning the Phantom, something she didn’t really think her aircraft was meant for. Rounds clacked by overhead, two or three rounds rattling the plane. She was sure the newer plane would be able to maneuver and engage her again but the added pressure from her flight mate made up the difference.

“Status, is it bad!?”

“I’ve got no serious damage so far, everything is still reading green!” Reported Douglas. “Just don’t get shot anymore, I don’t know how many more we can take.”

Tricky: << Thanks for the save Top, we still on for that barbeque after we land? >>

With the Mig off her tail pipe, Tricky was free to do as she had originally planned. They needed to clear the road and she still had plenty of ordnance to throw. Fuel, that was another matter but she could manage a few more minutes assuming there wasn’t any other interference.

“Slick moves, too bad only like three people saw that.”

“Well maybe there were more McMann. You got those tanks in your sights?”

“Just follow the heading. I’ll tell you when.” Tricky maneuvered the plane towards the heading given by her WSO. She began to pick up speed again so as to not freeze up, something she was really beginning to feel during the chase with the Mig. Tricky couldn’t very well see what he was shooting at but that was most of the time he shot at anything really. “Now.”

The Man: << Eagle Four, Pickle, Pickle, Pickle. >>

Roaring overhead she wondered if the enemy below could even hear her flying overhead through the blizzard and the sounds of their own machines. This thought only lingered for a brief moment as McMann deployed the munitions.

A pair of BMP-3s moving in tandem towards the annex were the first victims of the new bombing run. Either due to electro-optical jammers or the storm, the GBU didn’t land directly on top of the lead vehicle. Instead it landed slightly off by about a dozen meters. This however now put both lead and follow up vehicles in detonation range, rocking both and throwing them into disarray. The lead BMP saw its rear rise and fall, almost flipping completely. The vehicle thoroughly trashed. The follow up BMP-3 was much less lucky as it had been thrown up and onto its side.

The next two weapon releases found a pair of T-72B2s. Their modernization packages were great additions to the tank’s survivability against ground enemies, but unfortunately not so much against air attacks. The strikes stuck the tanks in their side armour as Tricky came in from their direct six o’clock. Black smoke bellowed from ground zero, the tanks had been gutted by the JDAMs.

“Bring us around again, I’ve got three more targets lined up.”

“Sure, not like I’m flying blind out here.”

“It hasn’t stopped you yet, has it?”

“Nope, we’re coming in now.”

[b]The Man: << Eagle Four, Pickle times three. >>

A wedge formation of tanks rolled towards the IIannex from the east, unfazed by the loss of so many of their comrades. EIther pushing on because there was no other option or because they were just that dedicated. The rear most tank found a new piece of ordnance in its ammunition rack milliseconds before detonation. The center of the wedge found 500 pounds of ordnance in its commander’s hatch and the lead found a bomb in its engine bay. It was times like this where Tricky thought modern warfare really was terrifying. All this carnage was dealt simply because of aerial superiority. Had this been what it was like for their armoured corps when they retreated? If so, it was now very understandable as to why Quox was currently being led by a logistics Lieutenant.

Spyro “Drifter” Beretta, Lion 1, Griffin Lead
Toredo Valley, Emmeria

As soon as Tricky had sent into a sharp turn that pushed the old Phantom to it's limits, Gorgon confirmed locked, and Drifter sent a AIM-9 flying off the rails towards the MiG-21-97 of Judicar, but this was a war harden experienced pilot, who knew he had been baited as he sent a few cannon rounds at Tricky, dumped flares and chaff, while also going into a maneuver that forced Drifter to follow him/her.

Gorgon:<<Lion 1, Fox 2. Lion, Fox 2.>>

Tricky: << Thanks for the save Top, we still on for that barbeque after we land? >>

Drifter: <<No worries, just make sure to bring some Emmerian food, that way we can show the Osean Gunships crew how to grill something other then meat. Now keep the pressure up Trickery. Drifter out>>

The FA-50, and the MiG-21-97 went through a dizzing maneuvers, each jockeying for position. Both planes were highly manueverable and Knife fighters, but the MiG had been designed as a Dog fighter, were the FA-50 was a converted trainer, plus the MiG pilot was a veteran of a war and not a prior transport pilot, and it was showing.

Before long the MiG-21-97 was on the tail of Drifter and Gorgon. Drifter put the FA-50 into a rolling scissors, while Judicar Followed him.

Gorgon: <<Lion 1 to all call signs, Need some help here. We can't shake this MiG>>

1st Lt. Tyler "Razorback" Bradford

<<Sicario-1, this is Glory. Serpent and I are noting several armored vehicles remaining at Alpha as well as multiple footmobile targets.>>

<<Copy that Glory, I'll have Razorback move to engage. Move to Valley Mouth West and Engage what you can there. Knight Out.>>

Hud: "Razorback, We are disconnecting the Vulcans, both are jammed. You just have the Miniguns."

Razorback "Copy that Hud. Get them up ASAP. Belle Assist him. Doc, Keep those Miniguns Fed and be ready for fire mission"

Razorback dove the Stinger back into the storm and was using IR to spot Targets by the Annex when he spotted 4 infantry formations advancing towards the annex, and 1 trying to retreat. He quickly put the Stinger into the Pylon Turn, sighted and pressed the trigger.

The SLAP rounds from the 3 miniguns decimated the 5 infantry units, leaving nothing but body parts and a fine red mist.

Razorback leveled the Stinger out and started to proceed towards the Eastern Valley mouth as the enemy was either dead or no factor in the Area around the Annex

Knight: <<Swan Song, Sciario 1. All immediate targets around Annex are dead or no factor, Moving to the East Valley Mouth to Engage, call if Need more fire support, Sciario 1 out>>

Razorback took the Gunship above the storm to let the wings defrost.

Razorback "Hud, hows it going back there?"

Hud "Just got them cleared. Reloading the Vulcans now"

Razorback "Copy that."

As Razorback Blbegan the decent into the storm as they got closer to Eastern Valley Mouth, Knight spotted some targets.

Knight: "I got a convoy of trucks here. Counting 12x with no Protected Symbols, and looks like 3x with protected Symbols."

Razorback "Let everyone know"

Knight: All Callsigns, Sciario 1, Verify trucks before firing. I have 3 here with protected Symbols in the Eastern Valley Mouth Sicario 1 out.

Razorback heard Hud say the Vulcans were loaded up and ready to go, as he started a pylon turn and lined up for a fire mission

Razorback: Sciario 1, Commencing Fire mission

Razorback squeezed the trigger and 20mm APDS and 7.62 Slap ammo flew out of their respective Guns. The Rounds slammed into several trucks. One of the Trucks detonated taking a truck with a protected Symbol with it.

Knight: "Damn it, Razorback. Really? I just said there was fucking Trucks with protected Symbols, and your bloody wanker arse destroys one?"

Razorback: "Calm the fuck down Knight. It was a fucking accident, it happens."

Knight: "Tell that to the Stovies."

by **Rupudska** » Tue Aug 10, 2021 6:33 pm

2nd Lt. Sonja Cosic "Mudfish"
23 December, 2015 // Khesed Island, Republic of Emmeria // Blizzard

Kyraina wrote:Before long the MiG-21-97 was on the tail of Drifter and Gorgon. Drifter put the FA-50 into a rolling scissors, while Judicar followed him.

Gorgon: <<Lion 1 to all call signs, Need some help here. We can't shake this MiG>>

The opportunity was so perfect, she had to look twice to make sure it was actually real.

It was a classic case of tunnel vision, so perfect it could have been in a textbook. The MiG-21-97 paid no heed to the Harrier that was just-so behind it, and why would it? A Harrier could be a multirole if it wanted to, yes, but with a mere two Sidewinders - and being an entirely subsonic aircraft - surely it was no threat?

Surely, in jest.

<<Lion One, Enforcer Three, I'll take care of it.>>

Being a Sidewinder, she didn't even need to radiate for this. Just wait for the lock, which took naught but a second, and fire. The missile's trail twisted through the air due to the winds, quite unlike its namesake (until the wind started to act on the smoke itself, anyway), and the Sidewinder detonated a few meters aft of the MiG's engine, and at an angle. It wasn't enough to do all that much damage on its own, merely knocking the Fishbed about and tearing a few choice holes in its tail, but in these winds, in this weather, with the moves it was pulling to stay on Lion 1's tail, it was enough.

The MiG began to lose control, and she could swear she could see a parachute.

by **Beiarusia** » Wed Aug 11, 2021 10:16 am

Second Lieutenant Marceline “Mooncalf” Faucheux | Second Lieutenant Benjamin “Vigil” Antall
Morning // December 13, 2015 // Toredo Valley, Emmeria

The truck was now crossing the bridge that spanned the frozen river. Elements from Eagle had descended to soften the opposition that was moving to impede their progress on the opposite side, however, the truck had not come away unscathed. Furthermore, despite having been too slow in securing the bridge, the remnants of the Estovakian unit that had escaped CAS were now moving to pursue. In short order they’d be within effective range to again assault Sully and his soldiers.

Only too late did the enemy catch sight of the silhouette passing overhead, the 30mm cannon roaring as the black-and-grey Fullback ripped into the lead vehicles before pulling up and disappearing back into the snowstorm. The lead truck had taken a direct hit and had stalled; the second had become stuck in the snow while turning hard to evade the autocannon. A third had impacted the first, blocking the roadway as it skidded along the icy asphalt. The remaining vehicles were now scrambling to push around, or to reverse, as the Fullback circled back overhead, a shark sensing blood in the water. Again the 30mm cannon roared, tearing apart an IFV and rendering several more inoperational as the heavy caliber rounds penetrated the armor. The pursuit had stalled.

Marceline adjusted her heading, banking into a wide circle so as to point the T-Pod back onto the road that Sully was traversing. The Estovakians on either side of the bridge had fallen into disarray, if only momentarily, from the attacks of Mooncalf and Eagle, and there existed a small opening for the truck to slip through unimpeded. The way ahead remained treacherous but it was less so now that CAS had done what it could to thin the gauntlet.

Benjamin chimed in, having spotted an enemy tank on the eastern roadway and sounding all too excited to finally have an excuse to launch the Kedge. The T-80U wasn’t yet in effective range to target Sully but there was little point in allowing it to close the distance.

Unfortunately, for a third time they were denied the use of their AtG missile by changing circumstance. An enemy Foxbat had broken through despite air superiority belonging to the Emmerians. It pushed towards the annex at high speeds, crossing paths with the Fullback, however, as if sensing a more valuable target the pilot broke off from his planned course to begin the process of slowly coming back around. It took another moment longer to predict his new target:

Sully, who had thus far been the VIP escorted through the snowy valley.

“Ready an Archer,” Marceline said, breaking off their own attack to bring them onto a new intercept, leaving the T-80U the opportunity to fall back as the twin Saturn engines passed overhead, the tank’s commander no doubt aware that the passing aircraft was not their own.

The Foxbat was on-course to make an attack against the Emmerian cargo truck. Although unlikely to know the full extent of the truck’s importance, it was receiving considerable air support, thus was now a priority target if only to deny the Emmerians an obviously important asset.

The Foxbat was on-course to make an attack against the Emmerian cargo truck. Although unlikely to know the full extent of the truck’s importance, it quite obviously was receiving considerable CAS, thus was now a priority target if only to deny the Emmerians a valuable if unknown asset. However, before the Estovakian pilot could commit to an attack run they were spiked and forced to divert, rolling and pulling hard to the left, dumping flares as the R-73 streaked towards them head-on. The infrared missile was defeated easily but had done its job at trashing the attack.

Mooncalf: << Fox Two. >> There was a slight pause. << Missile trashed. Engaging. >>

The Fullback passed the Foxbat as it pulled away. The Sukhoi was quick to readjust, but already the MiG was increasing its speed to simply egress from the blooming dogfight, the Estovakian pilot knowing full well that the airframe was ill-suited to partake in turn fighting, much less again a Flanker and in less than favorable conditions. By the time Marceline had turned to intercept the Foxbat had already placed considerable distance between them. It was coming back around, this time head-on with the Fullback. Again the MiG-25 was spiked, returning the favor as the Su-34’s RWR sounded its warning. The Foxbat was the first to loose its missile. The RWR sounded an angry alert as Marceline loosed her own before rolling to go evasive, Benjamin dumping countermeasures as they went. Simultaneously the Foxbat did the same in the opposite direction.

Both missiles were trashed, and although Marceline was quick to bring them back onto an intercept the MiG was again pulling away to keep its distance beyond what the Fullback could quickly maintain. The Foxbat was faster and hadn’t need to slow much for its course correction.

Again they were coming for another pass. Again the RWR sounded as the MiG spiked the Sukhoi, and in turn the Sukhoi the MiG, and although the Estovakian pilot could have pushed harder, been more aggressive, he was holding back, cautious or otherwise stalling for time. Enemy aircraft were still active in the airspace so the latter was definitely something to be considered.

It simply meant that Marceline could not afford to waste time.

The Foxbat was again the first to loose a missile. The pilot intended to force her to break, then would undoubtedly break in the opposite direction to use his speed to escape retaliation. Marceline, however, reacted much more quickly than previously, loosing an R-73 the instant the RWR detected the enemy launch, and for another agonizing second held fast. The missiles were launched near simultaneously, and in this game of chicken the Foxbat was the first to break, rolling and pulling away, flares burning in a beautiful display against the haze of the snowstorm. Marceline rolled in the same direction and, not allowing the MiG to reach speed, loosed her last missile as Benjamin franctically dumped countermeasures.

The missile struck home, tearing apart the right engine as the Foxbat struggled to stay aloft.

Heretic: << Dammit. >>

The RWR of the Foxbat continued to sound its incessant warning as the Fullback trailed behind. Marceline was in gun-range, and very easily could eliminate the hostile target, but the MiG was trailing black smoke and already losing altitude despite attempts to maintain a suitable glide. The aircraft was no longer an active threat, and very likely would be unable to RTB. At best the pilot could try and escape the AO before ditching.

Mooncalf: << Hostile aircraft neutralized. Returning to overwatch. >> She then addressed the enemy pilot directly.
<< Fly towards Blackrock. The weather is more favorable there. >>

The Sukhoi broke its pursuit, pulling alongside the stricken Foxbat, if only briefly, the dual-colored emblem visible on the vertical stabilizer against the dark camouflage, before rolling into a maneuver to bring them back around towards Sully and his dangerous journey. The battle was not yet over, and Marceline, limited on munitions, would remain on station until the missions end.

COMBAT LOG

by **Parcia** » Fri Aug 13, 2021 5:24 pm

Dragon

The Rusalka were spirits, vengeful spirits, poor women drowned in water by husbands not wanting children. Now a vengeful spirit was barring down on them. Nicky had two advantages, altitude and stored energy. Nicky rolled over and matched his vector with Rusalka-1's while having Misha que up and lock a R-27 before getting a shaky radar lock. "Fox-3" she read out over internal coms as she fired the missile.

Staying on the barring for a solid 10 seconds, Nicky banked hard left and leveled out at mid altitude, keeping his bird at a 90 degree angle towards the incoming fulcrum. Nicky could hear her suppress a few sobs behind him. They had been an item, much to his dislike, but it tore at his heart dearly to put his child under suck pain and stress. At the same time a part of him reminded him she as an adult, and an officer, and had trained for this. He pushed that from his mind, he had a job to do, and so did she, for her self and the nation.

<<Misha: Ducan, please, please, Don't do this, please dont force my hand on this.>>

<<Dragon: It'd be nice to have a fucking wingman right about now.>>

by **Kyraina** » Fri Aug 13, 2021 6:29 pm

Capt Spyro "Drifter" Beretta, Lion 1/Griffin Lead

<<Dragon: It'd be nice to have a fucking wingman right about now.>>

Gorgon: <<Lion 4, Lion 1. We are in bound. Hang in there>>

Knight: <<Hang in there Dragon. We are bringing the cannons to a knife fight.>>

"They wouldn't."

"I think they would Drifter. The Col. That Gunship co-pilot, and Merlin all apperenttly served together in Seian. Plus Dragon already saved the Gunship's ass once already."

"Then we better make sure that neither one of those old bastards go down."

The FA-50 zoomed towards the two fighting fulcrums, Drifter working a dance of changing altitude and direction, one to try to hide in the weather and second to try to break up the enemy pilots flight path and lock. While Drifter had been Transport before the war, he was a very gifted pilot, and had even been two weeks from Graduation to fighter pilot before a fight had him removed from the pipeline and placed in Transport. He knew how to make a plane dance, being from transport you had to be creative to deal with potential enemy fighters. He used that creativity now to do so now.

"Got them on radar, we are coming in at the enemy fulcrums 7'O clock. Keep her steady I about have Lock Drifter."

Drifter nodded and stopped the excess movement and slowed the FA-50 down. About that time he felt the last of the Sidewinders fly of the rail with a near prefect sight picture.

Gorgon: Lion 1. Fox 2, Fox 2>>

Drifter pushed the throttle all the way forward, rocketing across the distance for a clear guns picture. He adjusted his course as he closed the distance, with Gorgon reading off numbers of distance and heading so he could adjust his course.

The Fulcrum of Rusalka-1 dumped flares and chaff, and broke off his attack. Drifter followed the Fulcrum and unleashed a burst of fire from his Gun, but the Fulcrum pulled a cobra, and Drifter overshot, and the Fulcrum stayed on his Six.

"Shit, Can't do that."

"Drifter, Shut Up, and keep us from De-Icing, and keep us in the air. "

Drifter went into a series of defensive moves as he tried to throw the Fulcrum off his ass. The FA-50 was a really nimble craft but the Fulcrum had him best, but Drifter had managed so far to stay ahead of the guy."

The RWR sounded and then Gorgon yelled.

"Missile, Break"

Drifter pulled a hard turn, while Gorgon dumped flares. They Had managed to trash the Missile shot, but the Fulcrum was still on their ass.

Drifter:. <<Lion 4, oh fuck it. Dragon, get this stronzo off my ass.>>

Drifter combat Log:

Kills this post:
None

Total Kills:
Kills:
8x Artillery
2x T-80U(M)

Ammo:

175x 20mm APHE
1x Sniper Pod
1x Drop Tank

by **Anowa** » Fri Aug 13, 2021 9:21 pm

Col. Jason "Tombstone" Cain
0944, December 13th 2015 // Khesed Island, Emmeria

Moving at close to Mach 3, the modified F-15 ACTIVE still had yet to show her age. The pilot had kicked it in to high gear at the risk of blowing his engines out in order to get to Toredo before they got overwhelmed by a Guards Armoured Division.

Cresting the mountain top, IR and IFF started winking in to his helmet's HUD as Snake Eye connected him to the battle net. Still moving at the inhuman speed he was, his eyes settled on a MiG-25 moving at a comparable speed. Munitions otherwise expended, all he had was the integrated gun along the centerline. Lining up the bead, a stream of tracers lept forth and bisected the craft, the speed and crosswind causing the aging Yuke fighter to all but disintegrate in a solid arc over the Annex.

He could see tracers on the ground, primarily from MGS and APCs targeting encroaching infantry.

<<Dragon: It'd be nice to have a fucking wingman right about now.>>

"Over G! Over G! Over G!"

The frame, at that point was rolled hard yanked into a 12 G turn, Tombstone felt pretty much every joint in his body pop as he turned at a speed that would rip most planes to shreds. He dropped to Mach 1.7, and leveled out right as the feeling of consciousness began slipping away.

At full burn, the man honed in on Stroika, Beretta and their assailant. Rusalka, some piddly squadron given proper measures as aces for not much other reason than their former squadron lead being an ace a few times over.

Tombstone: << Kostroma One, Guns Guns Guns.>>

By the time he had blown past the trio at Mach 2.4, the MiG-29 had been reduced to glitter, a sustained burst almost a second and a half long destroying any chance the crew had of leaving the area alive.

At that point, the 15 BAe Hawks also crested the valley walls and began engaging at will. Followed by Harvester.

Tombstone: <<Tombstone to All Griffin and Hitman callsigns in the AO, RTB. We'll go over the debrief tomorrow, you did good today.>>

by **Kyraina** » Sun Aug 15, 2021 11:15 am

1st Lt Tyler “Razorback” Bradford
0944, December 13th 2015 // Khesed Island, Emmeria

Tombstone: <<Tombstone to All Griffin and Hitman callsigns in the AO, RTB. We'll go over the debrief tomorrow, you did good today.>>

Knight: <<Copy that Tombstone. Knight to all Callsigns. The crew of Sciario 1 informed me they have a tradition of a giant BBQ if every so often of having a BBQ for Squadron and Wing mates. They wanted me to tell y'all everyone is invited. You'll know the time when you smell the food.>>

1500, 13th December, 2015//Vitoze, Emmeria

Inside behind the hanger for the gunships, sat the crew of Sicario 1 at like 3 picnic tables they had taken from somewhere. Outside, in about two inches of snow There a bonfire they made with a stone ring around it, and on a couple charcoal grills cooked meat, and even vegetables the team had gone into town to get to mark the occasion. Cody, AKA Hud was standing by the grills, doing his thing as he grilled everything.

Joseph: “Hey Boss, you think the ones you invited are going to show up?”

Tyler: “I Sure hope so, We got a lot of food to eat if they don’t.”

Zach: “They will show up, Besides the bars might still be damaged or packed to capacity, and we got free alcohol. I didn’t know cargo and gunship crews brought their drinks with them. Also, I don't know pilots that will turn down free food or drink either.”

Holly: “Hey y’all, it looks like those people y’all invited over are on their way over. Also I think Grandpa, here is right”

Megan: “My God Holly, why do you have to talk like some redneck hick, Your family is rich as fuck.”

Holly: “That’s because we are redneck hicks, Darling. Though we are more educated then most.”

Zach: “Just because I’m 62 doesn’t mean y’all can call my old ass grandpa.”

Everyone: “Yes it does.”

There was a cooler full of sodas, different beers, and wine coolers, and hard liquor was on a picnic table next to some red solo cups.

Capt Spyro "Drifter" Beretta
1500, 13th December, 2015//Vitoze, Emmeria

Spyro and Maria were both dressed warmly, both in blue jeans, Tshirts, combat boots, wool caps, and their Leather Jackets. Spyro and Maria was bringing a couple bottles of expensive Emmerian Wine with them. The duo had made sure to tell everyone in Griffin of the grill out, and after their paper work and change of clothes had headed over to where the Gunships were being stored at. Despite the chilly air, the smell of grilling meat, fruits, and vegetables could be smelled.

"Smells like the Gunships have someone who knows what they are doing, doesn't it Maria?"

"I'll be very surprised if whoever grilling doesn't fuck something up, Spyro. All the Oseans know how to grill is steak, burgers, brats, and hotdogs."

"That smell says otherwise to me."

Maria shrugged and saw the Osean that went by Hud at the grill.

Cody:"Hey y'all. Everyone is inside the hanger at the moment"

Spyro and Maria entered into the hanger and saw the Massive gunships, and 7 crew men around a trio of pick nick tables.

Maria: "I hope others show up."

Spyro: "I do too."

The crew of Sciario 1 waved. Maria and Spyro walked over to engage in conversion.

by **Vacif** » Mon Aug 16, 2021 1:34 am

2nd Lieutenant Ciara "Tricky" Sharp
1500, 13th December, 2015//Vitoze, Emmeria

Eagle Four, now just Tricky and The Man, or Ciara and Doug began making their way towards the gunship hangars. Tricky wore a simple black turtleneck and a plaid patchwork jacket with blue jeans and black boots. A simple picnic basket sat in the on her bicep. Douglas wore a red turtleneck and a shearling leather jacket, a pair of chinos and black boots. He carried his package in a nondescript brown paper bag.

Heeding the Captain's words, Ciara and Douglas each brought something Emmerian. Kind of. Ciara took her time to pick something out nice, something that would pair well with wine and whatever meat that the gunship crew would be grilling up. Something light like an appetizer to ease people into the heavier foods. So she came up with a cherry tomato and basil focaccia and some garlic cheese flatbread. The cherry tomato and basil would be a nice opener with some wine while they waited for the meat to grill, while the garlic cheese flatbread would do well to soak up the juices of the meats. Also she liked garlic cheese bread. Douglas brought a whole wrack of lamb with mint jelly and cherry tomatoes and some suspiciously well made Arancini balls. They were fresh, much more fresh than they should have been.

"Where did you get the Arancini Doug?"

"Places?" responded The Man, not entirely interested in her question as they walked towards the hangars.

"Like? You couldn't have made them before the mission, or when we got back to base."

"Places. Don't worry about it."

"That makes me worry."

"What, you trust me to watch your back but not the food I bring to the table?"

"I didn't say that. I'm... just making conversation."

"Uhuh." A few seconds passed in silence.

"This the same place that got you that panna cotta?"

"So what if it is?"

"Y'know usually we have to reserve this a head of time right?"

"Mhm."

"Like, days in advance?"

"...Yes."

"So how did you get them?"

"I ord-"

"No you didn't."

"I know people." Douglas stated matter-of-factly.

"You've barely been stationed here for any meaningful amount of time, how do you know people? Who are these people?"

"Don't worry about it. Just know I can get you whatever you need within 24 hours."

"....Yo-ju-..... Just don't get arrested, I don't care." Tricky said, dropping the matter. Rounding the corner, they entered view of the gathering. The duo from Eagle announced their entry with a "Ciao!" and quickly closed in towards the picnic tables to drop off their goodies. "Red solo cups, how very Ossean."

"So you guys don't have a heater in that thing?" McMann asked to no one in particular, pointing at the gunship.

2nd Lieutenant Bernard "Witness" Levitt
1500, 13th December, 2015//Vitoze, Emmeria

Bernard sat in Assassin's ready room waiting for his flight-mates. Bernard wore a grey sweater, an olive fleece jacket, blue jeans and black boots. Leaning forward in his chair, he examined each little detail of the macarons (not macaroons) that sat in their box while trying to kill time. The box was full of assorted flavours, forming a bit of a colourful spectrum of pastries. Cool colours started in the bottom left and slowly transitioned to warmer colours. He picked them up from a local bakery not too far from base. A nice old couple ran the shop and gave him a good deal, not that he was hurting for money. With the amount of money he and Assassin had earned in the past two missions alone he could have bought the entire store and then some. Instead, they bought some well deserved and urgently needed modern planes. Hopefully next mission would be something a lot smoother. They seemed to have burnt through most of the Stovie junkers and were now actually running into planes worth a damn. He didn't know how he'd survived the last mission, maybe it was god's way of telling him to back out? A blizzard and a 6th Gen were hardly just bad luck. Bernard didn't want to think about almost dying several hours ago.

Back to the shop, there was a thought, starting a company with their mercenary money. What kind of company would it be? A PMC? An energy drink company? Lord knew they drank enough caffeine. It wasn't like they were really in it for the money. Well, most of them. He wondered if they would stay in contact after this war ended or if they'd all quietly go home and resume their old lives.

Probably not. Hell, knowing the state of the world, he'd probably see them all in the next war if they didn't stick together.

by **Hastur** » Mon Aug 16, 2021 1:46 pm

First Lieutenant Miriam “Rattler” Lochte
Vitoze, Emmeria // 13th December, 2015

“You got really lucky.”

The immediate fierce twinge in her collar cut Miriam’s scoff short, the brief movement seizing the indignation of the medic administering the sews, his eyes shooting daggers at the bloodied woman who had come a few hours ago with a healthy dose of mild hypothermia and shrapnel.

“Sit still.”

Miriam tried her best to remain stationary, but the unpleasant feeling of the needle closing the void in her skin made her jittery, her body trembling on the medical gurney as she considered what the medic had said in her tired state.

She certainly felt lucky. The mission had been one that was desperate. Breaking through a blizzard and going up against harsh odds in an antiquated war machine wouldn’t make for great betting odds. Despite everything, all she had come back an ace in a day was an empty armament and two splinters of an R-73. But how many times could she rely on luck? Had the heat-seeking missile blown up a few inches closer to the mirage and she wouldn’t be bearing through the stitches, she’d be dead.

At least now she wouldn’t have to fly the fowl anymore. The antiquated and war-scarred bird could be set out to pasture for something more contemporary. She recognized the fund was more than robust enough after Assassins’ conduct in the field; they had pulled out all the stops this mission despite the opposition. The medic ceased his steady movement, taking a step back as he examined his work.

“Right. I’m recommending light duty for the next couple of days, and I mean light duty. Otherwise, you’ll be back in here looking at getting your stitches reapplied and I expect you want that, because I don’t.”

The annoyed medic quickly applied dressings over the stitches before he shoved a couple of paracetamol foil packets into her hand, before giving Miriam time to get dressed in the change of clothes delivered by Dirty, who had brough her tan wool sweater, white blouse, jeans, and sneakers. Once dressed, the medic was quick to urge her to the exit.

“Do you think it’ll scar?” Miriam asked, tone light as she joked, briefly looking back at the older looking man, who looked tired, black bags clung to the bottom of his eyes.

“Fuck off.” The medic lightly spat as he reached the exit door, moving ahead of her briefly to open the door, cold air infiltrating the heated interior.

“Thanks.” Miriam replied, her tone much more serious. The medic only returning a brief nod as she exited the building. Outside, snow covered the fields as a light winter gale billowed through the air. It almost reminded her of home, almost.

The smell of wood burning clung to the wind. Following it along the paved footpath, she found the source quickly enough. A bonfire, one surrounded by a stone ring and members of the other flights having the barbeque that they had called for on the flight back. She wandered closer, tired eyes looking for a bench to claim for her own, spotting one in the group's corner, along with the cooler filled with beverages, along with red solo cups. The sight of which brought a short, silent scoff.

“Afternoon.” Miriam greeted, strain in her voice as pulled two glass bottles of Osean beer from the small container before she took her seat at one of the benches, a short grimace popping up as a brief jolt of stiff pain shot out.

Tired, Miriam didn’t waste time as she leveraged the tin caps off the bottles with the wooden table, a short fizzing sound breaking loose as they came off. She popped a couple of tablets from the foil packet into her hand and downed them with a sip of the hoppy, alcohol light beverage. It was no Belkan or Aurelian brew, but it would do in the absence of something better. She wasn’t about to complain about a free drink.

by **Kyraina** » Wed Aug 18, 2021 4:39 pm

Capt Spyro "Drifter" Beretta, 1st Lt Tyler "Razorback" Bradford
1505, 13 December 2015//Vitoze, Emmeria

"Red solo cups, how very Osean."

"So you guys don't have a heater in that thing?" McMann asked to no one in particular, pointing at the gunship.

The Gunship crew had dressed in a very casual manner, with the Blue jeans, various style boots, and various different hoodies.

Holly & Joseph looked as Ciara and Doug walked over to the picnic tables, and proceeded to drop some food off.

Holly: "Howdy Y'all, What did y'all bring to serve with the food? It smells delicious. I'm so sorry about the red solo cups, but we felt it was the best choice to bring along from Osea, as they are cheap, easy to replace if the they had gotten broken on the flight from Osea, plus it's less we actually got to wash after cleaning everything else. Not like that muesem pice of a plane we fly in can clean itself."

Joseph, had shaken his head and looked Doug.

"It has one man, but it's kind of hard to heat up a plane with open windows and doors, in -50 below, going 150 plus mph, plus it's not even pressurized hull. Plus the fact the C-119 was built in the 1940s. Besides no one in Osea flies these things into a Blizzard. I'll be glad when we get a plane fairly sealed off from the elements."

Meg, aka Doc, had waved at Miriam when she had entered. She walked over to the lady and sat down beside her.

"The medic do a good job of patching you up in there? We got some stronger stuff next to the cups, like ome whiskey, vodka, etc. I Also got some stronger meds in our go bag on the Ringer if you that causes you to much pain."

by **Ubaria** » Wed Aug 18, 2021 7:29 pm

_{December 13th
1500 Hours - Local Time
Dana Fischer
Vitoze, Emmeria}

A brisk wind fluttered stray locks of ashy blonde hair into Dana's eyeline. Vitoze was cold, though oddly that came as a comfort, there was something about it that brought a strange sense of serenity and calmness to her frazzled nerves. The adrenaline was only just beginning to wear thin from the sortie a few hours prior, somehow she hadn't ditched it into the side of a mountain or become a victim of the enemy and had bought the Draken back to base with a few kills to boot, yet a sense of pride was patently absent from the Beiarusian pilot. Blood for money. Was that something she was cut out for? Then again, the difference between flying her home colors or those of another country mattered little, she was paid to fly and even more to kill whomever she worked for.

Dana trudged along a bootworn path that stretched the length between the main complex and a side annex that the volunteers were assigned to, eventually the path wound around to a vacant area away from the main chatter of the base. Looking up, she spotted the flickering of a lonesome flame, surrounded by figures who were gathered around, their voices carried forth by the light winter winds. Squinting her eyes, she could make out the figures of what was some of the other members of her flight, as well as those from the others. Dana paused, pondering whether to join them or simply walk back to her bunk, her muscles ached and head swirled with disordered thoughts. After a moment or two, she forayed off the path and toward the gathering, figuring perhaps whatever it was, it'd take her mind away for a while.

The voices picked up as Dana approached, seemingly conversing among themselves at the choice of alcohol that had been bought with them. 'Booze? At 3pm?' Dana thought to herself conservatively. The last time she had drank any alcohol was perhaps her 24th birthday, even then she aired on the side of caution and shied away from the bottle when presented with the opportunity. Nevertheless, she proceeded up towards the bonfire and cleared her throat.

"Hey. Room for another one?"

by **South Americanastan** » Wed Aug 18, 2021 8:06 pm

2nd Lieutenant Nick "Whiteout" Callahan & 2nd Lieutenant Daniel "Phoenix" Johnson
December 13th, 2015 // Vitoze, Emmeria

"Ohhh, that's an S!"

Whiteout and Phoenix are currently playing Skeet Horse. The premise is simple; toss up a skeet, shoot it with a subsonic .22 rifle, and if you miss, it's a letter.

"Fuck, my turn"

"No pressure, Dan, it's just tied 1-1, and we both have an S"

Nick tosses up a skeet.

Dan misses, and the bullet buries itself in a sandbag wall in front of them.

Dan picks up the casing and skeet, while Nick celebrates.

"Might as well chalk it up for me now!"

"Well let's see you pull that shit off, Nick."

Dan tosses a skeet in the air.

Nick hits the skeet dead center, breaking it.

"And that's another win for me, 5 in a row."

"Shut up, I'll beat you when we come back from next mission." Dan chuckles.

"Anyway, I heard the Gunship crew is having a barbecue in their hangar, follow me." Nick picks up the broken skeet and casing before walking away.

"Do you even know where the Gunship hangar is?"

"No fucking idea, but I'll find it." Nick throws the bag of cases and broken skeets in dumpster.

After about 10 minutes of following the smell of grilled meat, Whiteout and Phoenix reach the hangar. Whiteout enters first, while Phoenix follows behind.

"Hey, you guys got enough food for two more? Come out Dan, don't be shy."

Dan steps forward, somewhat timidly.

"Hi."

by **Langenia** » Thu Aug 19, 2021 4:19 pm

2nd Lieutenant Jose "Spectre" Villanueva

A man with olive skin, black hair, and dark brown eyes could be seen walking around the Emmerian airbase of Campagna Airport. One could tell that this man wasn't a local, which meant that he was one of mercenaries recruited by the Emmerian Air Force for Hitman Squadron. Anyone with this line of thought was right. The man was "Spectre" Villanueva, a ground-attack pilot with the Enforcer flight of Hitman Squadron.

Walking around the base was something that Villanueva did with frequency. It was one of pastimes he had while stationed here. He found it interesting to study the buildings of the base, the surrounding landscape, and most of all, the planes of his fellow pilots, from a respectful distance of course. He continued walking, but on this particular day he was bored. He saw nothing of interest at the moment, and he was hungry. It might be time to head to mess hall soon.

Suddenly, he smelled something in the air. That smell, what was it? He sniffed. It was...meat being grilled. His mouth watered. A nice grill was just what he needed right now. He sniffed again, following the smell and letting it lead him to where it was coming from. It got stronger and stronger. Villanueva's mouth watered even more, and he remembered happier days, eating with his family in the dining room of their home in Leasath. He started to hear the voices of people speaking. Finally, he arrived at the place from where the delicious smell was coming from. It was a barbecue, several of his fellow pilots there.

The pilots were sitting down, drinking alcohol and conversing with one another. He shrugged and approached the gathering, opened his mouth, and said in a loud voice "Afternoon, everyone. Mind if I sit down?" That last bit was more of a rhetorical question, as he plopped himself down on a bench, nodded in greeting, and said, "How's everyone doing a today?" in a friendly tone.

by **Herador** » Fri Aug 20, 2021 1:10 am

2nd Lt's James "Bones" Gorman & Neisha "Dirty" Deeds
Assassin 5
Vitoze, Emmeria
December 13th, 2015

"Neesh, come on, we're gonna be late!" James called out. He was spread out on the floor, Chief strew out beside him. Both of the boys were gussied up, at least by their standards, James was wearing his best pair of jeans, a Rainy Day Realestate hoodie with the sleeves pushed up past his elbows, and his least ratty pair of Chucks he owned. Chief was wearing his good collar, the one with the bow tie on it. "If you take any longer in there, all the good beer'll be gone."

"Jesus Christ and all his saints James, the only way this is going to go faster is if you can help me put on make-up, can you do that?"

"... No."

"Shut up then."

Rolling on his side, James scratched Chief behind the ear. "You look good, pal." He sat up, raising his ears as much as the flaps would allow. "You do!" James insisted. "Gonna get all the ladies tonight, promise." Chief gave him a slobbery lick, which James felt was the appropriate reaction. There was a knock on the door, when James answered, it was their Crew Chief, a middle-aged E-5 named Enrico, who apparently took "dress nice" the same way James did with a gray T-shirt and blue jeans.

"All the ground crews are ready, we picked up some things from the store before it closed and we're heading downstairs to wait for the other pilots." He was a direct sort of guy, James certainly appreciated it.

"Might as well just head out, Neesh is still putting her face on."

Enrico gave James a knowing smile and shrug before turning down the hall. The pair had come to an early understanding that neither was big on military formality, and it suited them both just fine.

"The whole ground crew just beat us downstairs Neesh." Tossing a boot against the door for emphasis, James sprawled out on the floor again and Chief decided his chest was as good a place as any to sit.

"So help me god James Andrew Gorman, if you don't shut the hell up!"

The door to the bathroom flew open and Neisha strode out. A bright red leather jacket, black and white striped shirt, mini skirt with leggings, boots, and her hair up in a bun. She had gone all out.

"You look nice," James grunted, pushing Chief off.

"You two look like shit," She smiled. "Good, don't need my boys upstaging me."

The pair grabbed a few energy drink cans and led the way downstairs to the ready room, Chief happily plodding along behind them. Inside, Witness was sitting at one of the tables.

"Ay yo, Bernie!" Neisha hollered past James when he opened the door. "Get on your feet or the maintainers'll beat us to this thing."

James and Chief walked in, James grabbing two cases of cheap Osean beer before stopping in front of Witness, who Chief was now staring expectantly at, no doubt waiting for a pet. "You doin' alright Bernie? Ready for this thing?" James took a can of cheap energy drink out of his pocket and offered it to Bernard.

"Oh my god!" Neisha called, already walking down the hallway. "Will you two old ladies quit talking, I wanna get trashed and eat burgers!"

James smiled at his flight mate, "She's just salty it took her thirty minutes to put on eyeliner."

by **Beiarusia** » Fri Aug 20, 2021 3:23 pm

Second Lieutenant Marceline “Mooncalf” Faucheux | Second Lieutenant Benjamin “Vigil” Antall
Afternoon // December 13, 2015 // Compagna Airport, Vitoze, Emmeria

The return flight to Vitoze had been uneventful. As the exhausted pilots, mercenary and national, departed the airspace overhead Toredo Valley, the snowstorm had lessened to that of a gentle snowfall. Perfect conditions compared to the hellish environment that had overtaken the munitions factory. In truth the only notable event during the entirety of their RTB was an invitation by the crew of the gunship. Vigil had answered for Calf, stating they’d both be there, it was the least he could do for her, so he thought anyway.

It was afternoon now, and the pilots had been groundside for only a handful of hours. Marceline stood outside the hangar that housed the Sukhoi, clad in her usual flight-suit and visored helmet with the addition of a too-big flight jacket that had belonged to her father, a simple patch marking him as having belonged to the FEAF. Inside the pocket was another patch, this one belonging to her brother. She was awaiting her WSO. Despite her reluctance, Marceline was at the very least punctual, unsurprising considering she had very little reason to deviate from what she normally wore when outside. For all the hassles of her condition this was the rare benefit.

Meanwhile Vigil slid down the ladder of the Fullback from the cockpit, finished with all the post-flight checks and had argued with the Crew-Chief over the radio about oscillations he could feel in the airframe during certain maneuvers. He’d taken off his helmet and headset, laying them in his seat lazily, and despite being far from the blizzard, he could still feel the cold front blowing in from where they had been hours ago. He turned towards Mooncalf, waving his hand and giving a thumbs up as he approached.

“Are you done?” she asked simply, hands in the pockets of her flight jacket. Her tone was steady if only a tad bit apprehensive. She had made a point in avoiding social engagements so wasn’t exactly thrilled. The snow was at least calming, reminding her of the home she had left. So unlike the deserts she had spent the previous few years flying through.

Vigil nodded, arriving at the mouth of the Hangar. “I was arguing with the Chief on whether it was a compressor issue in the right engine or a fuselage problem in the airframe. He’ll figure it out tomorrow,” Vigil explained, shrugging as if the issue was a future-Vigil problem. “Ready? You don’t sound like it.” Vigil asked.

Marceline nodded with enough determination for the gesture to be satisfactory before setting off, her boots leaving deep impressions in the fluffy snow that had accumulated. “Though I don’t think a barbecue is exactly something suited to me.”

Vigil started walking, head turned towards Marceline quizzically as they went through the light snow. “Your job title is Mercenary Fighter Pilot, what do you mean a barbecue isn’t suited for you?”

She simply tapped the helmet she wore as if that explained everything.

Ben sighed, “Alright, though I don’t know how that stops you. You can eat inside can’t you? Swear I’ve seen it before.” He asked.

“It’s cloudy but the sun’s still out.” As an afterthought she added, “Doubt they’d want to close the doors.”

They were nearing the hangar now. The smell of burning wood and cooking food was faint on the gentle breeze, but it indicated that they were indeed walking in the right direction. As to confirm this a few others could be seen entering the hangar far ahead.

“Just ask them to close the doors, what’re they gonna say, no? It’s cold anyway.” Vigil replied, looking ahead as they and others closed in on the scene.

She considered it for a long moment. “Don’t want to cause problems.”

Ben thought for a moment as they could now hear the humming of conversation in the close distance, he turned back to Marceline. “Fine, I’ll cause problems if you won’t. It's not fair to be around good food and not get to eat, right?” He retorted.

“I’ll take it to go.” In truth she’d probably just grab something from a vending machine as per usual, though the prospect of something different was appealing in its own way. It had been far too long since she’d last had anything that could pass as homecooked.

He stopped Marcy with a hand on her shoulder, “You’ll eat it here. Come on, we’ll get a seat far from the doors if we have to. I’m your Wizzo, I got your back.” He let go, continuing their walk, “Besides, if you don’t, I’ll go on a hunger strike. And no one likes me hungry.”

Marceline rolled her eyes, a gesture that would have been lost if not for the exaggeration in her head and shoulders. “Fine,” she said, her accent peaking somewhat, “somewhere in the back.”

They stepped through the open doors and into the steadily growing party of pilots and crewmen. Marceline recognized most of the faces, and had seen the others in passing in the very least, but felt inappropriate in simply intruding on the conversations of people she only knew marginally. That said she did recognize the Beiarusian pilot, Dana Fischer, whom she’d bumped into previously, as well as Miriam off in the corner.

As they waded through the crowd, Ben looked for an open seat, at the same time, closing the door behind him, making sure he wasn’t impolitely slamming it shut in front of someone’s face.

“I’m going to find a seat,” Marceline said, wandering off towards the same corner where Miriam sat, careful to avoid bumping into anybody. Ben nodded, a slight smile to his face until she turned around, slumping back down to a neutral gaze as he simply wandered away to get plates.

by **American Pere Housh** » Sat Aug 21, 2021 1:11 am

2nd Lieutenant Amira "Grim Reaper" Cortez/ Malcolm "Anvil" Smith
Afternoon // December 13, 2015 // 125 miles north of Compagna Airport, Vitoze, Emmeria

2nd Lieutenant Amira Cortez along with her weapon systems officer 2nd Lieutenant Malcolm Smith were flying in their Panavia Tornado GR4, a strike aircraft able to use most munitions found in the Emmerian Air Force arsenal, heading to their next assignment. The Panavia Tornado GR4 was flying low due to the low cloud cover and the light snowfall. Amira pushed her internal comms so that she could talk to Malcolm, "Hey Anvil, what do you think of this new assignment? I mean with this move, we could finally get a chance to take the fight to the enemy."

Malcolm smiled at his commander's enthusiasm,"Well Reaper, we have a chance to take to take the fight to those bastards who dared attack our country." For the next 20 minutes, the two chatted together to eleviate the boredom until they were 20 miles from base.

Amira changed the comms channel to Channel 5, "Eagle 5 to Compagna Tower, do you read me?"

Her radio crackles, "Copy that Eagle 5, we read you Lima Charlie. You are cleared to land on Runway 2R."

Amira smiled at the response, "Copy Compagna Tower, proceeding to land on Runway 2R. Eagle 5 out."

Amira guided her Panavia Tornado GR4 in line with Runway 2R while deploying her landing gear. She slowed her speed to enough to where she wouldn't overshoot the runway but fast enough not to stall the aircraft. She glided in and finally touched down with a small poof of smoke from the tires. She activated her brakes slowing the aircraft down and proceeded towards the hanger where Amira was being guided to. Amira guided the Panavia Tornado GR4 into the hanger out of the snow before stopping then began going though the post flight check list before shutting the engines off. 2 base personnel rolled ladders so she and Malcolm can safely climb down so Amira opens the canapy before climbing down with Malcolm following after her after taking their flight helmets off. Amira looks around at her new surroundings in amazement before smelling what appears to be BBQ so she looks over at Malcolm, "You up for some BBQ Bro?"

Malcolm nodded, "Oh you bet sis. Lets also introduce ourselves." They got their 2 bags each from the cargo space of their plane then went to their rooms were they showered and changed into fresh uniforms which was winterized for the cold weather. They proceeded to where the BBQ was and introduced themselves so Amira introduced herself first, "Hello as you can see, both myself and my weapons system officer are new to this base. I'm 2nd Lieutenant Amira Cortez and I guess we are known as Eagle 5. The aircraft that I fly is a Panavia Tornado GR4." Malcolm introduced himself as well and told what he did. Amira went over to where the drinks are got herself a Mountain Dew and Malcolm a Coca Cola.

by **Dayganistan** » Sat Aug 21, 2021 10:51 pm

1st Lt. Takhmina "Voron" Abduloeva
December 13th, 2015 // Vitoze, Emmeria

Takhmina was in her quarters, having just finished typing up her after action report. Enforcer had once again completed their mission with no issues to complain about. There was no poor choice of targets this time as well, a welcome change from the previous mission. Somehow, nobody had managed to crash in that blizzard despite the vastly outdated aircraft they had been flying, a relief to be sure.

With outdated aircraft on her mind, she had begun filling out a requisition form for a new aircraft for herself. She simply couldn't trust the rust bucket she was flying anymore. When she served in the Yuktobanian Air Force, she had all the modern technology. Glass cockpit, a proper HUD, multi mode radar, BVR missiles, high off boresight dogfight missiles. The Su-17, unfortunately, had none of that. The fact that she had managed to take out any ground targets in that blizzard, and being only two kills short of ace after downing an Estovakian Grach and MiG-25 the previous mission, was nothing short of a miracle flying a fighter that was already a museum piece when her father was in the air force. She looked over the requisition form again, quickly filling in the remaining fields and signing the form in each place it was indicated to do so. She'd submit the form tomorrow, and by her next mission, would be the pilot of a brand new HAL Tejas.

With the requisition form complete, she was ready to officially consider herself off duty. However, she had long since replaced her flight suit with more comfortable civilian clothing, in today's case fleece lined leggings and a loose fitting sweater dress, after returning to base and immediately taking a shower. While it was one thing to be covered in sweat during an intense combat mission or even just training exercises, she absolutely could not stand such a feeling on the ground. It had become her post mission ritual in a way, take a hot shower to both wash the sweat and grime away, and to just stand there in the hot water, taking some time to think and process what had happened during the mission. Not only was it a good way to clear her mind, it was some helpful time to try to get her thoughts straight for the after action reports. A task she had really come to dislike as a flight lead.

With no missions or further official activities planned for the remainder of the day, the gunship crews in Sicario flight had decided to have a barbecue with an open invitation for anyone else to attend. After a successful mission, Takhmina decided it would be a good idea to attend. The other pilots would want to celebrate their success, and she thought it would probably reflect poorly on herself as a flight lead to not show up. While not much of a drinker herself, she wished she had thought to bring some vodka from home for such an occasion. The other pilots would have certainly appreciated it if she did. Regardless of her oversight, she grabbed one of her cold weather jackets, a soft shell jacket in the current Yuktobanian issued woodland digital camo adorned with a Yuktobanian flag patch on one of the sleeves, and put it on before stepping outside. She could already smell the scent of grilled meats coming from the direction of the hangars and followed the smell.

Arriving at the gunship hanger, she noticed plenty of people had already arrived and were sitting and chatting with each other. She took a seat at one of the tables that had been set up. "Good job on the mission today, I can't believe none of us crashed in that blizzard," she addressed the group generally.

"It's awfully quiet here for a party, where's the music?" She asked as she cracked open a can of Pepsi.

by **Tayner** » Mon Aug 23, 2021 10:09 am

Captain Samuel 'Merlin' Daniel
December 13th, 2015 // Vitoze, Emmeria

The flight was able to make it back to the airbase, mostly intact. Rattler was set down first, and eventually everyone landed one by one until everyone was done. Debriefing was short, basically a 'good job.' You're fuckin' a right it was a good job. Dan thought. His people did good, keeping the cargo truck alive, engaging aces, and defending the factory from anything that threatened it. Assassin had done exemplary, and thankfully they were able to fend off a bounty hunter in a fighter that would easily take down lesser skilled pilots. Rattler reached Ace in a day, Witness survived with Bones and Dirty bailing them out, and Mooncalf and Vigil taking their own ace kill, amongst the flight's many achievements. Enforcer also did well, but Sicario destroyed a vehicle with a protected symbol. While in whiteout conditions, it would be unavoidable sometimes, the revelation of the act had struck down some of Dan's good mood.

However, he sighed, heading to his room before he could allow his mood to sour any more. Dan took a quick shower before changing into some winter attire, and grabbing a bottle of scotch. He swung by the ready room on his way out, to see if anyone was hanging out there before he headed to the cookout. A voice loudly rang through the halls, letting him know that someone was there.

"Will you two old ladies quit talking, I wanna get trashed and eat burgers!" Neisha loudly declared as Dan entered the doorway of the ready room.

"Temper, temper. The night's still young, lieutenant." Dan said to Neisha with a grin before he looked at Bernard and James. "C'mon, let's go. I doubt they'll be waiting up on us." Dan said, waving the group to follow him. The trio of younger pilots enjoyed some conversation while Dan elected to stay quiet. The group arrived at the gunship hangar, and Dan found the nearest stack of disposable cups and mixed some cola with his scotch. He saw Miriam and Marcy with one of the gunship crewmen talking in a corner, and other members of the squadron milling about and getting food.

“Go make friends, I’m off to see an old one.” Dan said looking around and finding Zach, before going to meet him. “Zach, you geriatric fuck, how you been?” Dan joked as he walked up to his old friend, placing the bottle of scotch he’d been toting around with him on a nearby table after offering the bottle to Zach.

by **Sapim** » Mon Aug 23, 2021 2:12 pm

2nd Lt. Helena "Bono" Martiz & 2nd Lt. David "Joker" MacGregor
1505 December 13th, 2015 // Vitoze, Emmeria

It's just a normal day in Helena's life, a barbecue after a difficult mission where she went through a mess due to heavy snowfall and sudden temperature drop she had no idea what it would be like today, so she decides to talk to the members of her squad and several others to socialize since she hadn't spoken to anyone since arriving in Emmeria.

Bono: "Hi guys, how are you?"

She said in a cheerful tone, to which no one responded. During one of his many attempts to strike up a conversation with someone from the Enforcer or other squads his eyes are blindfolded and a whisper in his ear says.

Unknown: "Hi, would you have a White Bono with strawberry icing?"

Helena elbows her in the stomach and kicks the person who had done this to her, when she looks at who it is.

The stranger is Helena's boyfriend, David MacGregor Former OSEA Air Force Pilot and now mercenary pilot. Helena and David met in Oured OSEA, during the Pacific War between the OSEA Federation and Yuktobania in 2010 when she was a volunteer pilot for the Sapin Air Force in OSEA during the conflict. when the two stopped texting.

Joker: "Hello Helena, is this how you receive your Boyfriend?"

Bono: "No, it's like that"

Helena gives a kiss on top of David as he had not been given a long time, the kiss lasted 2 minutes exactly. Helena's joy was visible, but a doubt remained in her head.

Bono: "David, how did you know I was here and why are you here?"

Joker: "Now Helena, it's simple, I asked where a woman with fire-colored hair, speaking in Sapinish was... I'm asking your mother where you were and she said that you accepted a contract as a "Volunteer" in the Air Force from Emmeria then I made contact with a member of the Emmerian Air Force and they put the Enforcer squad as their wingman."

Bono: "How are you going to be my wingman if Draken only has one seat?"

Joker: "Welcome Stranger, we have an F-14A available for you!. Hahahahaha"

Her boyfriend's callsign wasn't Joker for nothing, always making jokes sometimes good and also in bad taste and laughing for nothing.

Bono: "Ha...Ha...Ha, really cute Joker so We have an F-14A available... Ok let's go honey let's eat."

And it was Helena and now her boyfriend David enjoying the barbecue at the Air Base.

Ace Combat: Ashes of War (IC/Closed)

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