Ace Combat: Ashes of War (IC/Closed)

by **Anowa** » Tue Jun 22, 2021 1:00 am

1st Lt. Victoria "Abel" Cain
0552 November 24th, 2015 // Campagna Airport, Vitoze, Emmeria

The plane she sat in right now, a J35J, was an old Norddenavik surplus. Part of the Anea initiative was a small but still noticable transfer of arms for familiarity and what not. When that idea came to a close when the Estovakian Civil War kicked up, Emmeria was stuck with close to three whole squadrons worth of fighters they had never adopted in the first place. Namely Stovie Sukhois and MiGs, and the previously mentioned Nord J35s.

The part that bothered her wasn't the fact it was old, or reasonably cramped, or not even the plane she was mainly trained to fly. It was the fact there was no space in the cockpit for any kind of heater beside the generic radioshack radio she stuffed in with her. Victoria wasn't one to complain much, at least openly, but being on midnight alert was an exemplary pain in the ass. From 1800 last night, to 0600 this morning, she, along with the rest of both her squadron, as well as Hitman and Windhover, were to sit in their planes and wait for another air space breach, break the speed of sound, and scare off imaginary fighters in one of many drills. It was one of those things that wouldn't last forever. High command was no doubt already going through counterattack options, though all things considered, most of their ground forces were still encircled on the mainland. It grated on her, knowing most of the remains of the Emmerian Air Force was cooped up in their hangars, but flying east with no plan and with their dicks in their hands wasn't the answer either.

Looking at the timepiece strapped to her arm, the clock read 0559. Victoria's hand reached for the buckle that would unlock her from her seat. It was at that exact moment that the air raid siren started wailing. Outside the hangar doors she could see other pilots about to make the shift change already hauling ass to their respective planes.

Scrambles during wartime were high strung moments, especially on the back step, the kind of moments where, despite doing so three hours ago, you still were doing preflight checks, even while taxiing to the runway. Such was how pressed for time the aircraft here were. Managing to pull in to the lead of Griffin's Alpha Flight on the runway, the mirrors mounted to the inside of her canopy gave her a view of the ragtag number behind her craft eager to get off the taxi way.

Campagna Airport ATC: <<Lion Flight, you are cleared for takeoff.>>

Abel: <<Copy, takeoff clearance granted.>>

With that, Abel punched the throttle, as the craft burned down the runway with the rest of Lion in tow, the craft each attained lift and went airborne. Gear went up, and Abel started her distant loiter.

Campagna Airport ATC: <<Lion Flight, liftoff. Assassin flight runway clearance granted. Takeoff when ready. All aircraft under airborne command's jurisdiction following, takeoff. This is not a drill, repeat, not a drill.>>

AWACS Ghost Eye: <<Airborne Warning and Control Systems Ghost Eye to all scrambling defense craft. Four times Estovakian Bear bombers and eight times Fitter-Hs are on a bombing run for the town of Vitoze and Campagne Airport incoming from heading Triple Zero at 86 kilometers out and angels eight point eight. Escorts of ten times Fishbeds are accompanying. Should they succeed in their attack, our nation and it's way of life will be wiped out. Ground based radar and ESM facilities are available for datalink, and SAM sites are available to pick off any craft that make it through air command's net, but don't rely on them. Griffin, Hitman, Avalanche, Sky Kid, and Windhover Squadrons, you all have clearance to engage. Take them out.>>

As Abel went to afterburner and made a beeline for 000, the lead of another squadron piped up.

Windhover: << Look at all that smoke.>>

Abel: <<Our frontline has already been hammered. Air defense is likely about to follow suit, so let's stop them from doing that.>>

by **Laka Strolistandiler** » Tue Jun 22, 2021 8:50 am

“Come on, start up, will you kindly?
If there was one thing Helga knew for sure it’s that her MiG, for some reason, really had to be soft-spoken and gently treated for the poor jet to start up. The plane, being made decades ago certainly showed its age, and while her family did their best to take a good care of it, MiG certainly had “developed a character of its own”- although being a religious person she did not believe in esoterics, she never sweared at “The old Reliable”, always spoke soft to it- and the fighter in return had never failed her. This time it had proved to be a “gentleman” once again, with the plane’s electrical system “blinking” a few times and than completely switching on. Communicating with the ground crew, she performed all the necessary pee start-up procedures, such as check-ups, checking on the fuel pups, injectors and engine control systems. Finally, it was the time for the fun part to begin.
- Ground crew, away from the engine, report the flame.
- Roger.
Pushing on the engine start up button on the control stick, she could hear the VK-1 chuckle for a couple of moments and then begin slowly spooling up with a gentle roar. In this roar she felt the aircraft’s heart come alive again, heard as every single part of this machine began doing its intended purpose. And being the main part of this machine was surely a privilege to envy.

While the engine war warming up pre-flight, she checked her anti G-overload suit, hydraulics and than gave the final command:
“Remove the wheel pads!” (OOC note: I honestly could find how this and many latter terms should trsnalste into English so I beg your pardon). Then she requested permission from the ATC to taxi in into the runway, double checking all of the plane’s system as she awaited an answer.

Upon receiving an “All Clear” message she, holding the brakes down, throttled up to 8500 RPM, than gently let go of the brakes and started the takeoff. Sometimes she thought that, if she was given a chance, she could takeoff in a MiG with her eyes blindfolded, and as such it’s no wonder that the takeoff went nearly as smoothly as possible. Rectracting the gear and the flaps., she checked the engine again and began circling over the airfield and climbing while awaiting for other members of the squadron to take off. Already she was setting up a plan of a,bush inside her mind- since her plane is vastly suprerior over the MiG’s in subsonic turns, she will do her best to utilize this advantage. Obviously, charging at the bombers while ignoring their escorted would’ve most certainly been a death trap and as such the most logical idea would be to get somewhat behind her squadron, (which is going to happen anyways because under no circumstances MiG-17 is going to catch up to an F-4E), and engage the MiG-21’s after the F-4E’s, if and when they’ll be locked in a dogfight. This was a logical things to do for the enemy because of their MiG’s turning advantage. What will happen if the plan doesn’t work? She’ll use a plan b then, and if it doesn’t work as well? Plan C to the rescue.

Upon recieving all the necessary information from AWACS, she began planning further actions- judging by the enemy’s plane relatively medium altitude, as well as MiG’s flying in tight formation with the Tu-95’s the best approach to the situation would be to attack the enemy from above after the Phantoms make their run, focusing on the Tu-95’s- her MiG’s 37-mm hard-hitting cannon will surely make a quick work of them.

[/quote]

by **Dayganistan** » Tue Jun 22, 2021 1:17 pm

1st Lt. Takhmina "Voron" Abduloeva
0559 November 24th, 2015 // Campagna Airport, Vitoze, Emmeria

The overnight alert shifts were never something Takhmina ever really enjoyed. She had only gotten in a fighter for the first time since leaving the Yuktobanian Air Force a few weeks ago, but even in a squadron of mercenaries, or "foreign volunteers" as the Emmerians preferred to call them the same annoying obligations persisted. It was always the struggle to stay awake and alert as the hours dragged on, waiting for a threat that may never even come. And then they would go back to the crew quarters to sleep all day and do the same thing the next night.

Like all of her surroundings, the cockpit of her Su-17 also felt foreign. The familiar blue-green the cockpits of all Yuktobanian aircraft were painted with was still there, but the analog gauges made it feel unfamiliar. She had flow with a glass cockpit against the Oseans, this was something more like what her father would have flown over Belka 20 years ago. From what she had seen around the base, her fellow "volunteers" and even some of the Emmerian pilots had equally old, if not older planes. One of the Emmerian pilots was flying something as ancient as a MiG-17, a plane that even in its country of origin you would only see on display as a monument at this point. Her Su-17 was by far one of the more "modern" aircraft at the base. To call it modern was a bit of a stretch, but she recalled seeing her own country using the same model against the Oseans a few years ago.

As the night shift was about to be relieved the air raid siren sounded over the base. She could see pilots and ground crew who were only seconds from relieving the night shift start scrambling for their aircraft. She started to run through the startup procedures for the Fitter as the plane soon came to life with the sounds of warning systems going through their tests and the jet turbine spinning up. She started to taxi towards the runway and lined up behind several aircraft, waiting her turn. When she reached the front of the line she taxied onto the runway and lined up along the center line before pushing the throttle to maximum power, propelling the aircraft down the runway at full afterburner. The acceleration pushed her back in her seat, she still wasn't fully used to being back in fast jets. As she pulled back on the stick and lifted off, the voice of an Emmerian AWACs came though her fighter's radio.

AWACS Ghost Eye: <<Airborne Warning and Control Systems Ghost Eye to all scrambling defense craft. Four times Estovakian Bear bombers and eight times Fitter-Hs are on a bombing run for the town of Vitoze and Campagne Airport incoming from heading Triple Zero at 86 kilometers out and angels eight point eight. Escorts of ten times Fishbeds are accompanying. Should they succeed in their attack, our nation and it's way of life will be wiped out. Ground based radar and ESM facilities are available for datalink, and SAM sites are available to pick off any craft that make it through air command's net, but don't rely on them. Griffin, Hitman, Avalanche, Sky Kid, and Windhover Squadrons, you all have clearance to engage. Take them out.>>

She directed her plane to the direct north and continued to fly that direction at full afterburner, after the friendly aircraft which had taken off before her. Her fighter could definitely shoot something down if it could get the jump on it even if it was more optimized for air to ground.

Voron: <<Voron to Enforcer flight, I think we're better suited if we go for the Fitters. Leave the Bears and Fishbeds to the Emmerian Phantoms but don't be afraid to go after them if an opportunity presents itself."

She hoped her two wingmen in Enforcer flight would take no issue with her attempt to take lead on the mission as she was, at least currently, the lead aircraft in the flight. She figured between her Fitter, a Mirage, and a Harrier, going for the aircraft that would be slow and too laden with bombs to dogfight would be where they could be more useful.

by **Kassaran** » Tue Jun 22, 2021 1:50 pm

Captain Romolo "Sciabola" Beninati
06:02 24 November, 2015 // Campagna Airport, Vitoze, Emmeria

As the rest of the flight began to take off, 'Captain Cutlass' as his callsign indicated, slowly let his Phantom roll to a stop at the trail position. Watching the flaring engine of the Draken in the lead take off, the older pilot gave a slight smile from within his crew station. His mind and mouth were moving automatically, sharing in the discourse that would have him slamming into his seat and into the air less than thirty seconds later as his turn to roll off the tarmac and into the skies came about. The speedster in the Draken had taken to afterburner quickly and had gained some considerable distance already even in their loiter, if Beninati could remember correctly, she was a relatively younger pilot.

The chatter going onto the net was immense, the individual radar operators and personnel aboard Ghost Eye had to be sweating bullets now, because he most certainly felt like he was about to. The stick in his hand he loosened his grip on, willing his beating heart and racing mind to still as his hand went to the throttle. His backseater, a man he'd been paired with only a week or so before, continued to read off the inflight instruments, ensuring the old surplus F-4 they'd requisitioned was working properly. They'd seen a couple of older flameouts and it didn't help that there were some real junkers in the flight. As the ground departed from beneath their wheels and the nose of the Phantom pitched back into the sky, Romolo smiled in the memory of a time when he'd done so in skies not threatening to rob him of his home and family.

AWACS Ghost Eye: <<Airborne Warning and Control Systems Ghost Eye to all scrambling defense craft. Four times Estovakian Bear bombers and eight times Fitter-Hs are on a bombing run for the town of Vitoze and Campagne Airport incoming from heading Triple Zero at 86 kilometers out and angels eight point eight. Escorts of ten times Fishbeds are accompanying. Should they succeed in their attack, our nation and it's way of life will be wiped out. Ground based radar and ESM facilities are available for datalink, and SAM sites are available to pick off any craft that make it through air command's net, but don't rely on them. Griffin, Hitman, Avalanche, Sky Kid, and Windhover Squadrons, you all have clearance to engage. Take them out.>>

His Pherret was already beginning to report the members of Windhover and Avalanche forming up and pressing the attack. He didn't know their individual targets, but he did know that his own flight was quickly becoming disorganized and he'd yet to see any sort of organization from the mercenaries that had joined the Emmerians. His eyes scanned his own cockpit instruments before keying his mic and beginning to do his job.

Lion-1: <<Ghost Eye, Lion-1, read you Lima-Charlie. Lion Flight, standby for tasking. Lion-2, hold on bearing, maintain speed at 900 knots until I reach you. Lion-3, hold at Angels 3, you're no good to me any higher. I want eyes on the terrain surrounding Vitoze in case the Esties want to play sneaky with anything low-level.>>

He'd seen the old Yuktobanian relic in his flight listing when he'd first been told of his posting. He couldn't tell whom had been more annoyed, him or his longtime wingman, Rondine. The poor fellow had jooined up under the conditions of being put in his flight as wingman, only to serve under a completely different captain entirely. It was all Beninati could do not to pull strings to get the man re-assigned to his flight, but the chaos and frenzy of the war had tied up all his contacts and he was sure the repercussions for annoying any personnel officers right now was a front line posting.

Lion-1: <<Sky Kid and Windhover Leads, this is Lion-1, the Mercenari are still forming up and I've got a bad wing. Take lead on bandits, Designate your targets and we'll do what we can to coordinate.>>

Looking over his shoulder, he cast a glance towards where he could see the dim lights of the other fighters in the Mercenary and Emmerian fighter squadrons blazing brightly, like stars rising into the heavens... some which could quite definitely never return. He could hear his RIO cuing through different radio frequencies, the encryption causing a slight crackling effect as more communications came in, this time from the mercenaries he'd just taken a jab at. He smiled, at least it seemed like someone was paying attention.

by **Laka Strolistandiler** » Tue Jun 22, 2021 2:10 pm

Kassaran wrote:Captain Romolo "Sciabola" Beninati

Lion-1: <<Ghost Eye, Lion-1, read you Lima-Charlie. Lion Flight, standby for tasking. Lion-2, hold on bearing, maintain speed at 900 knots until I reach you. Lion-3, hold at Angels 3, you're no good to me any higher. I want eyes on the terrain surrounding Vitoze in case the Esties want to play sneaky with anything low-level.>>

1st Lt. Helga "Red" von Ritterchofen
Lion-3: <<Lion-1, Lion-3, copy that, Wilco. Maintaining Angels 3, these sons of bitches aint’ slipping away.>>
“Well, crap, now I have to be completely at the mercy of the MiG’s that might or might not decide to dive on me… Hey, at least there is a slim chance that I’ll slip away in the ground clutter… Still, I guess, I might catch some who will try to run…”
Killing a retreating enemies… That a job a Ritterchofen descendant was assigned? Not dogfighting in the middle of a glorious fight but instead simply watching out for enemies that try to run or sneak around?

Still, orders are orders, and questioning them or outright ignoring was even more dishonorable and shameful and as such she changed the course and put her MiG into a slow, downward loop, planning on maintaining a cruise speed and arriving to the enemy’s positions a couple of minutes after the phantoms.

by **Offer Erapia** » Tue Jun 22, 2021 5:46 pm

Adam Winters AKA "Jester
Nov 24th, Emmeria Airbase

The cool crisp air of evening was one that was more than welcome to Adam. Who of course had found a spot in his hangar to read. A fantastic fantasy about dragons and riders coming together to stop a common enemy. As he read the intriguing novel he took a bite out of a protein bar. It was only the first of many he kept stashed away. Life itself on the base had been good so far not many strangers to encounter and overall peaceful and quiet. The same couldn't be said for Adams sleep schedule. Constantly awake at night in preparation of a possible attack has left the pilot feeling drowsy.

Taking a deep sigh Adam lowered his book and slowly started to lose the war with sleep. He was nearly dreaming when a sudden and loud screech of the raid siren jolted him awake. In an instant he was on his feet pumping his legs over to his aircraft. His feet pounded on the metal staircase that led up to the open cockpit of his grey and blue mirage iii. He leaped into his seat as the ground crew rushed the staircase away and opened the hangar doors. All the reading and simulations had prepared him for this moment. His Muscle memory had gone into overdrive he began flicking switches and twisting knobs and nozzles. His canopy lowered and slid into place locking with a mechanical hiss.

Once the electric grid was online he quickly ran a diagnostic and systems check. He couldn't risk any errors during flight it would be an almost absolute death sentence. As he waited for the feedback he quickly strapped himself in and grabbed his helmet quickly putting it on. A few seconds later all systems were cleared and Adam quickly started the engine. It coughed and sputtered before slowly starting up from a low murmur to a high metallic whine. After a quick control and counter measures check it was finally time to edge forward. Adam slowly pushed the horizontal lever located to his left forward and soon the plane followed suite.

Adam slowly pressed the pedals at his feet engaging the rudder. His metal mistress slowly pulled to the right, as he taxied to the main runway he turned on his comms. After he lined up on the runway he got to see what he and his flight were working with. In front of him and a little to the left sat a su-17 and a harrier. Both planes were nearly ancient but then again so was his. His eyes flowed over his control panel but as they did his ears were assaulted by a message.

AWACS Ghost Eye: <<Airborne Warning and Control Systems Ghost Eye to all scrambling defense craft. Four times Estovakian Bear bombers and eight times Fitter-Hs are on a bombing run for the town of Vitoze and Campagne Airport incoming from heading Triple Zero at 86 kilometers out and angels eight point eight. Escorts of ten times Fishbeds are accompanying. Should they succeed in their attack, our nation and it's way of life will be wiped out. Ground based radar and ESM facilities are available for datalink, and SAM sites are available to pick off any craft that make it through air command's net, but don't rely on them. Griffin, Hitman, Avalanche, Sky Kid, and Windhover Squadrons, you all have clearance to engage. Take them out.>>

This message was quickly followed by another. A female voice broke over his comms. It was his flight lead she was quick to suggest a plan and in Adams mind it wasn't half bad. As he raised his flaps for takeoff he responded to her command.

"Affirm flight lead, Engines hot I am ready to roll"

It was a about a minute later that the first planes started rolling down the runway. He watched on, engaging the brake as he did, he pushed his throttle all the way forward. The engines roar intensified and Adam looked on as the robust su-17 lurched forward. Within the matter of a minute her craft was up in the air. He quickly followed suite, releasing the brake his plane jolted and began to pick up speed. It was only a dozen seconds before the yellow stripes on the runway began to blur together. He looked down at his gauges reading the speed. 150....180...220...250he gripped the stick and slowly pulled it back the mirages nose lifted up and the ground below suddenly fell away.

by **Tayner** » Tue Jun 22, 2021 6:31 pm

Captain Samuel 'Merlin' Daniel
Campagna Airport, Vitoze, Emmeria
November 24, 2015

Dan had found himself another war. Not as exciting as Siean, they didn't hit the ground running and more often than not they waited for a fight rather than going looking for one. It's not the 90's anymore, planes are expensive and pilots are even more of a pain to train and put into combat. The old veteran thought. Truth be told, this would probably be his last war. That's what I said in Belka. And Dorusia. And Seian. He again mused. He had the money, enough to retire to the highlands of North Point if he wanted, but after the first few years it became apparent that Dan was never after the money, even back in the North Point Air Force, no, he lived to fly into the fire, and he had the scars to prove he flew close enough to it to be burned. So, the old ace stood on the tarmac of another country, flying another plane, waiting on another battle.

Business as usual, until the alarms went off. He cursed, crushed out a cigarette and threw himself into the seat of his F-5, the Tiger II, in less than a few seconds, and he had it started up and rolling in the same amount of time, doing his pre flight checks in motion as he checked his flaps and instruments, before pulling out behind Lion.

Campagna Airport ATC: <<Lion Flight, liftoff. Assassin flight runway clearance granted. Takeoff when ready. All aircraft under airborne command's jurisdiction following, takeoff. This is not a drill, repeat, not a drill.>>

Merlin: << Affirmative, let's go Assassin. >>

AWACS Ghost Eye: <<Airborne Warning and Control Systems Ghost Eye to all scrambling defense craft. Four times Estovakian Bear bombers and eight times Fitter-Hs are on a bombing run for the town of Vitoze and Campagne Airport incoming from heading Triple Zero at 86 kilometers out and angels eight point eight. Escorts of ten times Fishbeds are accompanying. Should they succeed in their attack, our nation and it's way of life will be wiped out. Ground based radar and ESM facilities are available for datalink, and SAM sites are available to pick off any craft that make it through air command's net, but don't rely on them. Griffin, Hitman, Avalanche, Sky Kid, and Windhover Squadrons, you all have clearance to engage. Take them out.>>

Merlin: << Alright Hitman, from up and get ready for standard interception. Assassin, on me, climb to Angels eight point eight and maintain cruising speed at five-hundred knots on intercept course at triple zero. Enforcer, follow Voron's lead. It's time to get into this war, let's hope our Emmerian friends will keep up. >>

As usual, the comms were crackling to life. Blood and JP-8 were pumping, and trigger fingers were getting itchy. The mercenaries didn't care to have the discipline to fly in a tight formation, instead Assassin opting for a loose echelon off of his right wing, and Enforcer forming their own echelon. They didn't need to be neat until it came to the fighting, and Dan knew mercenaries were more capable than any country would ever give them credit for. After all, why do they keep hiring us?

Merlin: << Just remember lads, watch your wingmate's back and keep your eyes and ears open. I don't want holes poked into this formation because of tunnel vision. Prioritize the bombers but don't let yourself get shot down. >>

by **Anowa** » Tue Jun 22, 2021 10:57 pm

1st Lt. Victoria "Abel" Cain
November 24th, 2015 // Vitoze, Emmeria

Lion-1: <<Ghost Eye, Lion-1, read you Lima-Charlie. Lion Flight, standby for tasking. Lion-2, hold on bearing, maintain speed at 900 knots until I reach you. Lion-3, hold at Angels 3, you're no good to me any higher. I want eyes on the terrain surrounding Vitoze in case the Esties want to play sneaky with anything low-level. Sky Kid and Windhover Leads, this is Lion-1, the Mercenari are still forming up and I've got a bad wing. Take lead on bandits, Designate your targets and we'll do what we can to coordinate.>>

Windhover: <<Stay in your lane, Griffin-1. You lead your folks, I'll lead mine... and use the right units so you aren't confusing anyone younger than 40.>> the cut off mumble about 'knots my ass', was heard before squadron peeled off, likely in accordance with the subsequent announcement.

AWACS Ghost Eye: <<More bombers! Bearing 040, Angels 7, 90 kilometers out. Hurry up and intercept. There's more oncoming on long range, if they aren't taken down we'll be in for a world of hurt. Bombers at bearing Triple Zero are descending for bombing run.>>

Looking at the radar screen, the Draken sure enough picked up more aircraft, more Bears, Fitters and Fishbeds. And from the rate the Fitter's were popping on and off the scanner, they were descending much faster than the Bears.

Allied Ground: <<Break break! Hostile aircraft are performing Suppression of Air Defence, I say again Fitters are->>

The sound of the radio cutting out was enough for Abel. With her flight consisting of a man more content with dragging his ass and thinking about how to exert his authority; and a subsonic fighter with an abysmal acceleration crewed by what she could only guess was some kind of moron, she pushed the throttle to max again and rocketed ahead, at a speed far outpacing both her CO's F-4 and the archaic MiG-17. After reaching it's top speed, Abel made a split second decision to avert her previous plan to move to a zoom climb, instead, boom and zoom on the Su-17s descending into SEAD distance on the friendly SAMs. If the SAMs went down they'd never be leaving this base, and given what she'd seen so far, there wasn't much better to expect from the rest of her squadron, so she couldn't expect them to take down any Bears on their own. A single button press and both drop tanks on the belly of her craft fell away

Radios squeaked on, all across the board on their military frequencies.

Estovakian Broadcaster: <<Vitoze Soldiers of Emmeria. Resistance is Futile. Throw down your weapons and surrender! Emmerian continental forces have succumbed to the might of our armies, and wisely admitted defeat.>>

Ignoring the call for surrender, Abel kept her target on sight, it wasn't long before the squawk of the AIM-9s slung on her aircraft's wings acquiring a lock on a Fitter squealed in her ears as she hung around mach 1.6.

Abel: <<Lion-2, Fox-2.>>

In the distance, the Su-17 obviously noticed, either the incoming missile or the Draken moving like a bat out of Hell, and moved to break off it's run on a Radar installation. He turned for a head on, only prompting the AIM-9 to lazily arc and nail the swing wing aircraft dead center. Parts flew off, one wing was sheared clean off, and it was trailing a greasy cloud of black smoke and fire. The pilot ejected, and the craft went into an aimless freefall into the hills below.

Abel: <<Lion-2, splash one times Fitter.>>

by **Kyraina** » Wed Jun 23, 2021 12:23 am

b]Capt Sypro "Drifter" Beretta, Eagle 1[/b]
0552 November 24th, 2015 // Campagna Airport, Vitoze, Emmeria

Spyro was going through final pre check as flights rocketed off, then finally it was Eagle flights turn.

Drifter: <<Campagna ATC, This is Eagle 1. Eagle flight is taking off I repeat Eagle Flight is taking off.>>

Sypro locked the wings of the F-8 Crusader into take off position and rocketed down the runway. After leaving the tarmac and gaining altitude, and putting the wings back in place
.
AWACS Ghost Eye: <<Airborne Warning and Control Systems Ghost Eye to all scrambling defense craft. Four times Estovakian Bear bombers and eight times Fitter-Hs are on a bombing run for the town of Vitoze and Campagne Airport incoming from heading Triple Zero at 86 kilometers out and angels eight point eight. Escorts of ten times Fishbeds are accompanying. Should they succeed in their attack, our nation and it's way of life will be wiped out. Ground based radar and ESM facilities are available for datalink, and SAM sites are available to pick off any craft that make it through air command's net, but don't rely on them. Griffin, Hitman, Avalanche, Sky Kid, and Windhover Squadrons, you all have clearance to engage. Take them out.>>

Spyro found a position in the rag tag and quickly heard Lion-1 go over the Comms. He was about to say something when all hell broke loose. He pushed the throttle forward pushing the crusader past the sound barrier.

Drifter: <<Eagle Flight, Eagle 1. Let's engage those Fritters. Eagle 2, Eagle 3 y'all stick together but remain flexible. Eagle 1 Out.>>

Drifter picked up a flight of Fritters going after a SAM site on his radar and pushed the throttle all the way forward, breaking the sound barrier. The Fritters were to focused on trying to get the SAMs that they didn't notice Drifter closing in. He quickly acquired looked on the rear most fritter and let the first of four Aim-9's fly.

Drifter: <<Eagle 1, Fox Two. Eagle 1 Fox 2.>>

The flight broke apart into two elements, and Drifter's first missile missed. He Cussed under his breath as he followed the Fritter he was after, till tracers flew over his canopy and Drifter broke in a port side loop and wound up behind a fritter and unleashed with his guns.

Drifter: <<Eagle 1 Guns, Guns, Guns.>>

a Burst of rounds from the 4 20mm cannons on the crusader slammed into a fritter and sent it tumbling into the ground with no sign of ejection from the enemy pilot.

More tracers flew over over his canopy and Drifter broke off before trying several different maneuvers but with 3 different fritters on his trying to get revenge for their flight room

Drifter: <<Eagle 1, Need help here, i fucked up and got some Fritters hounding my ass.>>

by **Laka Strolistandiler** » Wed Jun 23, 2021 12:37 am

1st Lt. Helga "Red" von Ritterchofen
Helga, cruising at relatively low altitude had immediately noticed a friendly J-35 engage and get a kill on a Fitter, and why should he have all the fun?!
Lion-3: <<Lion-2, Lion-3, good kill!>>
“Well, sometimes fate really gives you fruits when you think that it had gave you lemons! …”

Lion-3: <<Allied Ground, Lion-3 I’ve got you covered! >>

Allied Ground: <<Thanks, Lion-3… Incoming Fitter! Bearing 130, speed 1,2M, angels 2, approaching fastly!>>

Immediately after these words came over the radio, multiple SAM’s were fired at the Fitter. At the moment it was still acquiring a lock for another SAM site and in order to evade the incoming SAM’s put imself into a high-G evasive manuever, a deadly mistake. which while allowed him to get away from the missiles greatly diminished his speed, which had presented an excellent opportunity for Helga, which she, after ejecting drop tanks, eagerly accepted:

Lion-3: <<Allied Ground, Lion-3 Engaging your target! Check your fire! >>

“Now that’s a fight worth going for! The enemy fitter most likely didn’t expect that friendly AAA will open fire at him that early, and now he’s all out of speed an all out of luck!”

Of course, the fitter, who’s pilot was most likely nervously looking around saw the diving MiG- Helga couldn’t help but see as the jet, with it’s wings folded out, to give the plane max subsonic maneuverability tried to pull an oldest trick in the book- to try and force her to overshoot. “Not today, pal!” Fresco, maneuvering around the Fitter had managed to get into a firing position, with Helga uncaging her guns and preparing for that sweet sound and feel of your 3 auto cannons doing their deadly work.

Lion-3: <<Lion-3 I’m in a firing position behind the Fitter! Guns, Guns Guns!>>

As her cannons weren’t loaded with tracer rounds, she couldn’t see the rounds streaming towards the fuselage, however, she felt with her whole body the plane’s airframe rocking back and forth from the gigantic recoil, generated by the 37 mil. After firing a few quick bursts, she finally secured a hit. The Fitter did not simply catch fire, or smoke- for some reason it, after being hit just a few times disintegrated into a giant ball of fire,- most likely, she thought,- due to a detonation of either weaponry or a fuel tank. Of course, there was no chute…

Lion-3: <<Lion-3, splash one bandit! He’s going down in a great ball of fire, Yahoo!>>

It was only after this that she had heard an assistance request from Eagle-1, and after looking around and seeing no more obvious targets, immediately chose to proceed:

Lion-3: <<Eagle-1, Lion-3, moving in on your position, hold on!>>

Her Fresco, not being the fastest jet on the battlefield, started moving towards the troubled Crusader, hoping to get behind the fitters before they’ll shoot off a wing or two from the poor feller.

by **Kassaran** » Wed Jun 23, 2021 1:03 am

Captain Romolo "Sciabola" Beninati
24 November, 2015 // Vitoze, Emmeria

Sciabola had received chewing outs before, but watching the fighters break off, he gave a sneer and fastened his mask to his face with an aggressive motion. He'd not rejoined to get tied up in bureaucracy, he'd joined to try and defend what was left of the Air Force, of his country. His eyes slid towards Red, the pilot whom had chosen the old Mig-17. At least they had some sort of organization being maintained as he slowly crawled into position off Abel's starboard wing.

AWACS Ghost Eye: <<More bombers! Bearing 040, Angels 7, 90 kilometers out. Hurry up and intercept. There's more oncoming on long range, if they aren't taken down we'll be in for a world of hurt. Bombers at bearing Triple Zero are descending for bombing run.>>

Beninati swore inside of his mask, he should have guessed that the Esties wouldn't give up so quickly, but as he watched his instruments, his Weapon Systems Operator began to call out designations from the back. The Fitters were dropping in altitude, and fast. Watching in muted horror as Beninati began to piece together what was happening, allied comms broke the airwaves and confirmed his suspicions.

Allied Ground: <<Break break! Hostile aircraft are performing Suppression of Air Defence, I say again Fitters are->>

Turning his head, he watched as the Draken promptly broke formation and sped away low. He couldn't know what was going on in her head, but there was a lot at stake, and watching as she dropped lower and lower in pursuit of the Fitter, his eyes quickly scanned for any signs she was going to pick up a tail, watching as the escort Migs slowly began to split. Watching the Draken suddenly pitch up, and then nose over into a dive, he saw the woman begin her attack run. Above, the escort Migs slowly had begun to descend, noticing the fighter over-extended and without any backup. The radio communications crackled as Estovakian propaganda began to fill the airwaves.

Abel: <<Lion-2, Fox-2.>>

There was a brief puff of smoke, Sciabola watched the trail speed off the Draken, his eyes desperately trying to keep an eye on the retreating speck of metal on the horizon as his eyes swept back up towards the oncoming fighters. Sneering and swearing, he pulled his nose up towards the fighters, thumbed on his ICS and informed his WSO to activate the seeker on his number 1 sidewinder. Ten seconds later, the missile left the rail, an extreme-range lock-on having given it all it needed.

Sciabola: <<Lion-1, Fox Two.>>

Abel: <<Lion-2, splash one times Fitter.>>

His helmet turned to the side, spotting the brief flash and the falling fireball of the Fitter. Shaking his head, he turned his mic back on again.

Sciabola: <<Lion-2, Lion-1, confirm splash. Get out of there, you are over-extended.>>

In his peripheral, he heard his WSO inform him that his first Sidewinder had already lost track, but he didn't care as the RWR buzzed to life and warnings began to flood his ears. Cranking hard and to port, he dumped chaff and flares, the brief flashes of light spilling off and away from his flanks distracting the missile the escorts had fired in return. In his ears, the WSO reported a second missile launch and Sciabola inverted and pulled towards the ground now six kilometers below and rapidly approaching, leaving a trail of light in his trail as a third missile launch report reached his ears.

Dropping his throttle toward the Idle Setting, he clenched his lower body and thighs, his breath heaving in his ears as he fought the G-forces on his body, continuing his evasive maneuver until the alarms dropped off and he slowly turned back in towards the battle, hoping Red had managed to finally reach the fight. A stream of traces past his canopy informed him a Fitter had slotted in on him and he quickly jinked high then dropped low, slamming back on the afterburners and pulling up and over in a rolling scissors. The Fitter, having either lost him in the frenzy, or lost interest, had disappeared into the ground clutter and as Sciabola struggled to obtain eyes on anything, he heard Eagle flight enter the fray.

Drifter: <<Eagle Flight, Eagle 1. Let's engage those Fritters. Eagle 2, Eagle 3 y'all stick together but remain flexible. Eagle 1 Out.>>

Checking over his shoulder, his WSO quickly gave the bearing on friendly forces approaching and he smiled briefly before refocusing on the tasks at hand. He heard Drifter score a kill with guns, a bit old fashioned but Sciabola appreciated the skill as the Crusader pilot managed. That was, until the wingmen of the Fitter he'd shot down had moved to slot on him. An angry maelstrom of tracerfire lanced across the distance as Beninati slid the Phantom in behind the fighter-bombers and ordered up another IR-seeker. The target computer buzzed in his ears and he depressed his thumb.

Red: <<Eagle-1, Lion-3, moving in on your position, hold on!>>

Sciabola: <<Lion-1, Fox Two. Lion-3 break and support Lion-2. Bandits dropping to engage. Drifter, I have your six.>>

Even as the Sidewinder slid off the rails, the nose of his Phantom was already rolling and pitching to catch the flaring exhaust of the remaining Fitters. Flares filled the sky as two of the Fitters broke contact to try and evade, the streak of smoke from his Sidewinder quickly dropping off and out of view as the seeker head lost track and plummeted into the ground. Romolo grimaced and cued up the Sparrow on the number 1 slot for his fuselage hardpoints. The computer sang the angry song of its people, if it had people, and if those people had been hornets, angry hornets.

Sciabola: <<Lion-1 Fox-One.>>

The SARH missile slipped off the rails and the brilliant streak of light it left as it closed the two klicks to the remaining Fitter kept Beninati focused on keeping the fighter lit until a blossom of fire filled the morning sky. His heart sunk. It had been his first kill in almost a decade, and the second in his career. He'd killed another man and he prayed silently for forgiveness. His WSO yelled in his ears and countermeasures spilled off his craft as he rolled, slamming the rudder hard right and pulling his throttle back, the missile that had been destined for him disappearing into the fog of war as he rotated his helmet wildly, trying to get a view on his attacker.

Rondine: <<Lion-1, Eagle-2, Bandit your Four-O-Clock, Angels Four, Flanking. Drop and dump, I'll take the shot...>>

* * *

2nd Lieutenant Marco "Rondine" Petraglia

The man in the pilot's seat had been heaving against the weight of his body slamming into his seat with four times its usual force. The aggressive hammerhead he'd pulled out of his corkscrew had not done him any favors and he could hear his WSO struggling to breathe against the weight of the maneuver. Tracers streamed from the Fitter that had looped around and slotted in on a now aggressively maneuvering Phantom in the low ground. His eyes struggled to focus, the blurry darkness siezing at the corners threatening to kill him quicker than the skies full of Estovakian bandits. As the Phantom slowly leveled out, his Pherret cued up his first Sidewinder and in a moment the buzzing tone filled his ears.

Rondine: <<Eagle-2, Fox Two.>>

His eyes stayed glued to the quickly unfolding furball in the lower skies near Vitoze, thhe streak of smoke slamming home into the tailpipes of the Fitter and sending it careening into the ground below, a thin circle of white appearing a hundred or so meters off the ground indicating the pilot had successfully bailed. Rolling hard starboard, he cued up his mic again.

Rondine: <<Eagle-1, this is 2, no joy on last bandit. Stay eva->>

His heart leaped into his chest as his warning systems blared to life and he dropped his throttle, slamming his stick to the left and blinking against the sudden weight that once again filled his body, adrenaline enhancing his thinking, his perception, his reflexes. The maneuvers were trained, he knew the numbers, in dogfighting there was no better reflexes, just better numbers. The bigger the numbers, the better. Chaff and flares spilled off of him as he rolled hard right and then inverted. He had less than a kilometer of altitude with the maneuver, but he could do it. He knew his numbers well and his stomach lurched as he slammed back on the afterburner. His WSO choked out a warning of another missile launched and a highway of firelight spiraled to the ground behind Rondine as his countermeasures slowly ticked down in number.

Rondine: <<Ea-Eagle-2. Evasive! Ban-dit.... hup->>

G-forces threatened their own dangerous way back into his mind, the warm comforting feeling of sleep slowly beginning to fill his mind as blood began to rush from his head and he tensed against the sensation, forcing blood back up to his heart, to his mind. G-induced Loss Of Consciousness, G-LOC, killed pilots. Especially fighter pilots. He'd seen it in the academy, he didn't need to become a part of that number, of that statistic. The Swallow floated on air, nimble and acrobatic, and while the unseemly brute that was the Phantom was anything but acrobatic, it did have two big, beautiful engines and plenty of wing-loading to withstand the punishing ordeal Rondine now put it through.

by **Shyluz** » Wed Jun 23, 2021 1:44 am

2LT. Zéphyrine Roux "F.R.O.G." de Saint-Hadrien
November, 2015 // Campagna Airport, Vitoze, Emmeria

Zéphyrine woke with a start. When had she set her alarm to such a horrid wailing? Zéphyrine flailed to pause the incessant noise that had disrupted the meager semblance of a sleep schedule she'd established. She'd need another hour, at least. Finally, she grasped her phone, and slid her thumb across it in a calming manner. The manner in which gets the alarm to shut the fuck up, for at least a while. The wailing didn't stop. If anything, it'd intensified. How curious. Zéphyrine's eyes shot open. It wasn't her alarm. It was the raid siren.

Muttering curses under her breath, Zéphyrine untangled herself from her poor sleeping posture, pulling up the sleeves of her G-suit as she did so. Finally sitting upright, she slapped the breathing mask across her face and performed the most field expedient pre-flight check in history. By which she threw the ignition, warmed the seekers on her R-3s, and strapped in. She could do the rest as she taxied. The left-side engine sputtered. She grimaced, kicked the fuselage by her boots once and it barked, before returning to nominal function. Some planes needed to be sweet-talked, tricked or flattered into function. Zéphyrine seemed to have a habit of getting the ones where the gremlins needed to be beaten out.

She taxied, flexing flaps and tapping instruments as she rolled to a halt. Two planes left from Griffin, then just Merlin. Then her. She rolled her shoulders and flexed her fingers along the stick. A breath in, a breath out. Radio chatter turned to noise. One plane left from Griffin, the penultimate Emmerian roaring into the skies ahead. Zéphyrine switched fuel feed to the belly drop tank. She'd burn as much as possible then ditch. Once she was up, she'd need altitude fast, and her internal tanks had less drag. The sooner she ditched the drop tank, the better. The last jet from Griffin rocketed airborne. Fishbeds were a lot of things, but they fell into the same category as most of the planes she had learned on--flying bricks.

Campagna Airport ATC: <<Lion Flight, liftoff. Assassin flight runway clearance granted. Takeoff when ready. All aircraft under airborne command's jurisdiction following, takeoff. This is not a drill, repeat, not a drill.>>

Merlin soared into the air. Zéphyrine--F.R.O.G., now--followed, being shoved into her seat as she pressed the afterburner as hard as she could. Right now, it was an altitude game. The fuckers on their way had it, she didn't. And she sure as shit didn't have much time to make it up.

AWACS Ghost Eye: <<Airborne Warning and Control Systems Ghost Eye to all scrambling defense craft. Four times Estovakian Bear bombers and eight times Fitter-Hs are on a bombing run for the town of Vitoze and Campagne Airport incoming from heading Triple Zero at 86 kilometers out and angels eight point eight. Escorts of ten times Fishbeds are accompanying. Should they succeed in their attack, our nation and it's way of life will be wiped out. Ground based radar and ESM facilities are available for datalink, and SAM sites are available to pick off any craft that make it through air command's net, but don't rely on them. Griffin, Hitman, Avalanche, Sky Kid, and Windhover Squadrons, you all have clearance to engage. Take them out.>>

Tayner wrote:Merlin: << Alright Hitman, from up and get ready for standard interception. Assassin, on me, climb to Angels eight point eight and maintain cruising speed at five-hundred knots on intercept course at triple zero. Enforcer, follow Voron's lead. It's time to get into this war, let's hope our Emmerian friends will keep up. >>

Tayner wrote:Merlin: << Just remember lads, watch your wingmate's back and keep your eyes and ears open. I don't want holes poked into this formation because of tunnel vision. Prioritize the bombers but don't let yourself get shot down. >>

F.R.O.G. sighed. While she'd have preferred a straight fight, Merlin was an old man in a line of work where everyone dies young. And he was technically her boss as well, but that was just a formality. Either way, it was best not to test his authority while in the midst of a slowly evolving aerial battle. Especially not when he packed seekers. She flicked a switch, and felt the dull reverberation as the drop tank--now mostly depleted--fell back down into the dirt.

Estovakian Broadcaster: <<Vitoze Soldiers of Emmeria. Resistance is Futile. Throw down your weapons and surrender! Emmerian continental forces have succumbed to the might of our armies, and wisely admitted defeat.>>

F.R.O.G. grinned a thin, cruel grin. Public broadcasting was an edge that cut both ways--it bolsters morale, but it can be equally devastating. Especially once seekers start flying and things got complicated. From angels eight-point-eight, she had nearly a good two angels on the Stovies formation. F.R.O.G. watched as Fitters dove down towards SAMs radiating, big underslung SEAD missiles leaving long contrails as they sped towards the Emmerians on the ground. The first wave of Bears were coming in for their run on the installation. Unfortunately the enemy Fishbeds hadn't been pulled off their charges, so the Tupolevs had run of the airspace.

F.R.O.G.: <<Merde, Bears are going in. I'll try to scare them off. Pouncing. Assassin-5, out.>>

Zéphyrine rolled her Fishbed into a steep dive--her only defense while she tone'd the Tu-95s was speed and surprise. There was precisely one pass before the baddies caught on to her mischief and made her day properly miserable. The beeping went solid.

F.R.O.G.: <<Assassin-Five, Fox-Two.>>

She rolled, arming another seeker in her dive as the first Atoll streaked towards the leftmost Bear. Luckily, the Tupolevs weren't known for their evasive capability. She had more pressing matters. Like the other three. The beeping blared as she rocketed closer and closer... it solidified. The tone was good.

F.R.O.G.: <<Assassin-Five, Fox-Two! Come on, please!>>

F.R.O.G. felt the shudder of the airframe and the his as another Atoll contrailed off towards the center-left Tu-95. She slammed rudder and roll the second the R-3S was off her rails, flicking her nose towards the next Tu-95 before screaming just above it, pressed against her seat as the MiG underwent a maneuver it was never intended for. She switched to her guns, she would only have a moment.

F.R.O.G.: <<He's right there! Kill him! Come on, kill him! Kill him, God damn you!>>

Zéphyrine squeezed a burst from her cannon, the tracers just off the bow of the third Tupolev as she rocketed past.

F.R.O.G.: <<I had him! Fuck! Assassin-Five, I guess I'll play the rabbit for now--support would be very appreciated. I've got...>>

She glanced in her mirrors and around her cupola. Five MiGs had broken off to pursue. She couldn't find the first Tu-95, but the second was a greasy stain folding in on itself as it's left wing folded into the fuselage, burning thick black smoke as fire enveloped the hull.

F.R.O.G.: <<...okay, I've got five Fishbeds on me. One Bear splashed, cannot confirm the other. Two Bears still inbound.>>

Zéphyrine punched the afterburner. She'd need every ounce of speed to get out of this alive.

by **Laka Strolistandiler** » Wed Jun 23, 2021 2:46 am

1st Lt. Helga "Red" von Ritterchofen

Sciabola: <<Lion-1, Fox One. Lion-3 break and support Lion-2. Bandits dropping to engage. Drifter, I have your six.>>

Red: <<Lion-1, Lion-3, roger wilco!>>

The nimble MiG had swiftly maneuvered away from her course and began chasing down the troubled Draken and his pursuers. Both the MiGs and the Drakens were way faster than the Fresco, and as such the only chance for her to catch up was if they would begin turning. Trying to shoot them down with an AA-1 would be been a waste of equipment- both the missile and the plane were far too slow, even with an afterburner on. Then she could’ve possibly got up close and personal with those pesky Estovakians!

by **Rupudska** » Wed Jun 23, 2021 5:25 am

Skies over Vitoze
November 24th, 2015
Predawn

Sonja Cosic wasn't entirely sure why she was here.

True - she was a mercenary pilot, if not in name than in fact, and true, she had a fair deal of experience at her job. She had even just started to get used to the quirks of the Harrier platform, if not the specific Harrier she was flying. That was usually impossible with airframes so old, anyway.

But she was going up against other aircraft, and that had her at a loss. Even with Sidewinders and the ADEN guns, multirole it may officially be but a dogfighter the Harrier was not, unless you counted shooting at helicopters to be dogfighting. Entirely subsonic and lightly armed compared to fighters of the day - even some of its selfsame era, the Harrier was more suited for taking on the role the enemy was using its own so-called "multiroles" for. Hell, so was she - most of her "fortune" was from shooting at the ground. It was very hard to miss the ground.

Still. There were things a Harrier could do in an aerial engagement, that nothing else but another jumpjet could.

<<Vitoze Soldiers of Emmeria. Resistance is Futile. Throw down your weapons and surrender! Emmerian continental forces have succumbed to the might of our armies, and wisely admitted defeat.>>

She rolled her eyes. With that kind of propaganda, you'd think Estovakia was some tiny literally-where country ruled by a tinpot dictator with more skill at poetry than leadership, not a military power with enough money to (somehow) afford an airship larger than Hresvelgr or even the Arsenal Birds Osea was testing.

Focus, she told herself. <<Enforcer 3, turning to engage.>>

Cruising along at a sedate speed, as the flight of Fitters passed by her and Voron, Mudfish shoved her Harrier's thrust vectoring stick forward. The jet bled speed like a stuck pig as she pulled it into a turn no normal fixed-wing aircraft could manage, and pulled the stick back to its level flight position.

<<Fox,>> she said as one of the Sidewinders left her. She didn't bother with adding the two. It wasn't like the Harrier could carry any other air-to-air missiles.

by **Dayganistan** » Wed Jun 23, 2021 6:32 am

1st Lt. Takhmina "Voron" Abduloeva
November 24th, 2015 // Vitoze, Emmeria

AWACS Ghost Eye: <<More bombers! Bearing 040, Angels 7, 90 kilometers out. Hurry up and intercept. There's more oncoming on long range, if they aren't taken down we'll be in for a world of hurt. Bombers at bearing Triple Zero are descending for bombing run.>>

Almost exactly what she expected was happening. The Fitters were dropping altitude to engage ground targets. A radio transmission from an Emmerian SAM site confirmed this. She watched as an Emmerian Draken accelerated towards the bandits and took one of them out. Soon, her own flight was in the merge. She turned on the seekers for her R-60s and began to look around for targets of opportunity. While this was happening, some Estovakian propaganda came over the radio. The typical "drop your weapons and surrender" speech. Something she had heard enough times broadcasted by Oseans over Yuktobanian frequencies. Those sorts of radio broadcasts were something she had more or less learned to tune out by now, just stupid attempts to demoralize that rarely worked.

While looking for targets she heard a radio transmission from a friendly Emmerian aircraft requiring assistance.

Drifter: <<Eagle 1, Need help here, i fucked up and got some Fitters hounding my ass.>>

Voron: <<Eagle 1, Enforcer 1, moving to assist.>>

Sure enough, she spotted the three Su-17s chasing a singular F-8. She turned her plane towards the pursuing Fitters, one of which had made a critical mistake and placed the rear of their aircraft towards Voron's own Fitter while attempting to evade an Emmerian Phantom which had also moved to assist. She got a good lock on tone for her R-60 and pressed the weapon release button as a missile streaked from under her left wing.

Voron: <<Enforcer 1, Fox Two.>>

The missile streaked towards the hostile Fitter. The missile would lose lock as the Fitter attempted to evade so she fired another.

Voron: <<Fox Two.>>

The hostile Fitter continued to perform an evasive maneuvers but this missile was fired from too close of a range for the bandit to properly dodge in time. The hostile Fitter fell to the ground in a cloud of black smoke. Her first air to air kill in five years. It would almost be something worth celebrating, had she not just spent the past 12 hours waiting for the chance that something like this could happen. She had also noticed another member of her flight had gotten a kill of their own on another Fitter.

Voron: <<Enforcer 1, splash one bandit. Enforcer 3, nice kill. Stay alert for MiGs trying to dive on us.>>

by **The United Remnants of America** » Wed Jun 23, 2021 12:43 pm

First Lieutenant Tobias "Frosty" McLeod

Campagna Airport, Vitoze, Emmeria

11/24/2015 - 06:09

The aircraft shuddered as Tobias McLeod released the break and began moving forward, the engines giving a throaty growl, turning into a dull vibration. It hadn't blown up yet, so Tobias had assumed this thirty-odd year-old aircraft's refit had been successful.

At the end of the line, Tobias pulled up and felt his wheels leave the ground. The Thud was airborne, and he along with it.

<<Enforcer-4, Airborne.>>

This wasn't the first time he'd flown Frosty's plane, but it was going to be the first combat flight in Frosty's plane. His 20mm cannon was full up on over a thousand rounds, his five hardpoints loaded down with 5 AIM-9 Sidewinders, his internal bomb bay carrying only a handful of Mk 80 bombs. As his dad would've said with a grin, "just in case, because bombs are useful in any situation."

<<Voron to Enforcer flight, I think we're better suited if we go for the Fitters. Leave the Bears and Fishbeds to the Emmerian Phantoms but don't be afraid to go after them if an opportunity presents itself.>>

Voron... That was the Yuktobanian woman who was her flight lead. Tobias grimaced under his oxygen mask. He knew roughly what the Fitter could do, and he knew exactly what his Thud could do. Tobias could do the math in his head. He'd heard stories of his dad killing fighters in opportunistic surprise attacks, but a head-on fight? That was a death sentence.

<<Enforcer-1, Enforcer-4. Understood, will seek an opportunity for a Bear.>>

There, that sealed it. As the Thunderchief gained altitude, Tobias knew despite his armament, that he was flying to kill bombers right now, not get into a knife fight with a plane that can stab him in the ass. After a few minutes of flying to catch his flight, the fighting began. Enforcer broke up. The Fitters and Fishbeds were spreading out to defend. Tobias smiled to himself, oriented his heading, and slammed open the throttle.

Tobias was pushed into his seat as the Thud broke the sound barrier and approached Mach 2, quickly speeding through the skies. Ahead of him, the Tu-95's radar signature was clear, and he could see the rapidly approaching speck that he visualized hitting. He watched the distance close rapidly as he came at it from the side, his aircraft moving over twice as fast as the Bear in front of him could possibly move. 50 miles. 40 miles. 30 miles. 20 miles. Tobias smiled, there was the lock. He thumbed his missile fire selector twice.

<<Fox-2, Fox-2.>>

He felt the aircraft shudder only slightly as two AIM-9s lanced out from the Thunderchief and arced ahead. Frosty shot over the top of the Bear and glanced behind him in the cockpit just in time to see fireballs strike the side of the Bear and begin to go into a downward spiral as its wing broke away. Frosty looked back ahead, deciding to continue before slowing and wrapping around back into the bearing of the bombers to speed back up and strike again. The maneuver would take a couple minutes, but at least one less plane existed because of him. Tobias decided he felt nothing for the half-dozen people who'd been aboard that bomber.

<<Splash one Bear.>>

Frosty began his slowdown and turn to reorient for another strike.

by **Hastur** » Wed Jun 23, 2021 1:05 pm

MISSION 01A: OPERATION UMBRELLA
1st LT Miriam 'Rattler' Lochte
November 24th, 2015 // Vitoze, Emmeria

Miriam’s right leg shuddered as the Mirage 3 perched on the tarmac, her foot chaotically thumping against the floor of the antique aircraft, a weak tapping discernible within the maturing bird that was bracing for departure, all systems green, fixed to fight. The problem that had won her nickname had not elected to rear its head over the many hours she remained motionless on midnight alert, waiting for something to happen. But the second she got into the compartment with the air raid sirens that wailed awful premonitions, there it was again. That twitch. She drew a sharp breath, attempting to shake the embarrassing tick loose once and for all, to no avail.

Campagna Airport ATC: <<Lion Flight, liftoff. Assassin flight runway clearance granted. Takeoff when ready. All aircraft under airborne command's jurisdiction following, takeoff. This is not a drill, repeat, not a drill.>>

The order subsequently broke down the line. The familiar speech of the ATC started as a welcome tone before becoming much more ominous as it reverberated over their helmet’s radio. This was presumably it, the strike that they had been predicting. Estovakian’s turning out to mount that offensive. Rattler’s face stanched into a succinct sneer behind the O2 mask that clasped to their face tight. They would have to compete with tooth and claw, no doubt. At least she would absolutely get to do something about it this time, finally getting that fight that she had been waiting for against the Stovies.

She went into the taxi process. Managing the craft deliberately onto the runway with the distinct members of their flight, hitman. It was a volunteer group, all soldiers of fortune. She had not had the opportunity to get to know them all that intimately, but she would have to depend on them once she tore into the skies above, even the Osean, whom she had already made strong albeit unjustified conclusions on. The rumble of the traveling jet obscured her own shudder as she fastened to the lead plane, Merlin. The rattle of the craft disappearing as the wheels lifted from the ground, the sequence of planes assembling into a loose arrangement as they soared into the orange shaded sky.

AWACS Ghost Eye: <<Airborne Warning and Control Systems Ghost Eye to all scrambling defense craft. Four times Estovakian Bear bombers and eight times Fitter-Hs are on a bombing run for the town of Vitoze and Campagne Airport incoming from heading Triple Zero at 86 kilometers out and angels eight point eight. Escorts of ten times Fishbeds are accompanying. Should they succeed in their attack, our nation and it's way of life will be wiped out. Ground based radar and ESM facilities are available for datalink, and SAM sites are available to pick off any craft that make it through air command's net, but don't rely on them. Griffin, Hitman, Avalanche, Sky Kid, and Windhover Squadrons, you all have clearance to engage. Take them out.>>

Great. Strategic bombers with escorts.

The green blips beaconed on the radar console. Miriam scoured the skies, observing the blips bearing triple zero as their contour stood out against the early daybreak, correctly where the radar had suggested they would be. The flight of bombers and fighters intruding within the airspace, they would have to ascend higher to intercept the threat. The radio was filled with broadcasts, fading into background noise as Rattler began to concentrate, her body becoming still. Eventually, one message stood out. The order for standard interception.

Merlin: << Alright Hitman, from up and get ready for standard interception. Assassin, on me, climb to Angels eight point eight and maintain cruising speed at five-hundred knots on intercept course at triple zero. Enforcer, follow Voron's lead. It's time to get into this war, let's hope our Emmerian friends will keep up.

Rattler: << Wilco. Lets slap these guys around.>>

She promptly answered before implementing the order, establishing her sharp ascent, employing some acceleration and pulling the stick as the jet began its journey further upwards. The altimeter steadily soaring high as the Mirage 3 climbed, arriving alongside the position with the F-5E and MiG-21SM quickly, now above the bombers. She began mentally strengthening herself for the anarchic waltz across the sky, examining the radar, occupying her mind with the route and where the bombers and their dangerous escorts would be.

AWACS Ghost Eye: <<More bombers! Bearing 040, Angels 7, 90 kilometers out. Hurry up and intercept. There's more oncoming on long range, if they aren't taken down we'll be in for a world of hurt. Bombers at bearing Triple Zero are descending for bombing run.>>

She promptly answered before implementing the order, establishing her sharp ascent, employing some acceleration, and pulling the stick as the jet began its journey further upwards. The altimeter steadily soaring high as the Mirage 3 climbed, arriving alongside the position with the F-5E and MiG-21SM quickly. She began mentally strengthening herself for the anarchic waltz across the sky, examining the radar, occupying her mind with the route and where the bombers and their dangerous escorts would be as the sound of enemy propaganda spat over the airwaves.

They were beginning their attack, descending to drop their payload on the base. Enough bombs to completely flatten everything below. She could not let that happen, and she would not. She just had to wait for the flight lead to start and it would be easy kills.

F.R.O.G.: <<Merde, Bears are going in. I'll try to scare them off. Pouncing. Assassin-5, out.>>

Things hastily flew off kilter. The order of battle breaking as the Aurelian commenced their attack, flying in alone against the bombers. She peered the MiG broke hard into a dive. The plane picking up momentum immediately and vanishing out of visual sight, only distinguishable now as a slight, friendly fleck on the radar as it advanced towards the bombers without protection. Miriam hesitated, she knew she should follow, but did not want to break formation, dubious about what to do as the pilot begun the attack. The call coming over the radio that their ordinance had been launched. The fighter zipped past them on the radar, and some new blips began to seemingly take chase.

F.R.O.G.: <<I had him! Fuck! Assassin-Five, I guess I'll play the rabbit for now--support would be very appreciated. I've got......okay, I've got five Fishbeds on me. One Bear splashed, cannot confirm the other. Two Bears still inbound.>>

Miriam grimaced at the news, her face writhing as concern seeped in. Five fighters on the hunt were a death sentence for any pilot. If she did not get any help, she’d be shot down for sure. She put a little further attention into it, preparing to make the move. The odds where still stacked against them, but she could not just do nothing.

Rattler: <<<Copy Assassin-Five, breaking formation and moving to assist.>>>

She turned the aircraft hard right, controlling her breathing carefully as the hard turn and momentum of the dive hit her. The plane being pushed downwards towards the enemy as she sped up quickly after the pursuers. Radar blips guiding her eyes on target. The five MiG hauling after her ally. The delta wing Mirage 3 barely making gains at the expense of the safety of the higher altitude. Her breathing became rhythmic as she closed the gap, the long waltz beginning now.

The straggling plane in the gap was her target. The frame and paint scheme of the silhouetted blip now more visible as she attempted to match it move for move, getting into the hunt. Her breathing steadied as her heart galloped, almost breaking out of her rib cage as the grasp of excitement hit home. She negotiated the targeting circle over the airplane as the brisk, abrasive beep sounded off. The pilot, now conscious of its pursuer, undertook to pull off aggressively as that beep turned into a solid tone. Miriam held her breath as she discharged the missile lock as it moved out of the circle before discharging the AIM-9.

Rattler: << Assassin 2, Fox 2! Fox 2 ! >>

The rocket quickly dashing off at the destination, the evasive manoeuvres being too little too late as it whacked into the now diving plane’s wing. Exploding into a fireball as the pilot lost control of their bird, plunging rapidly back towards its ultimate resting place. She released a sharp exhale as the target when down. Leaving the imposing figure of four now. Some of whom were snapping off mark, assumed to begin the hunt on her, a sense of nervousness creeping in as she watched.

Rattler << Assassin 2, splash one bandit. Assassin 5, looks like two of them are breaking off. Going to stick on the ones on you! >>>

She continued on, ignoring the shifting planes as she focused on chasers, following the next plane tightly as she accelerated once again as she attempted to keep pace, moving lower and lower, back towards the earth. Attempting to gain a lock on the next hostile MiG.

by **The Oshian Federation** » Wed Jun 23, 2021 1:57 pm

2LT Henrietta "Limaf" Middleton
24.Nov.2015 God Knows What Local
Campagna Airport, Vitoze, Emmeria
Operation Umbrella

On this fairly cloud-covered morning, surprisingly warm for a November dawn Annette had again managed to rise at a time most other people would consider honestly uncivilised. Two shots of espresso and a breakfast at 4 am solved her residual sleepiness in a flash, the remainder of her morning routine went by just as quickly and by 5 am she was in the ready room doing things on her laptop. Her work was interrupted some fifty minutes later as the air raid alert went off. What felt like minutes later she was in the front seat of Eagle 03 buckling in, as did Mathilda. Warm up, arming, engine start, chocks away and taxi to runway went past in a blur as Annette faced her first real combat mission. Gulping for what must've seemed the thirtieth time she got her clearance to go, set the takeoff thrust and was propelled up into the skies by what still felt like angels.
They got their... terse briefing and threat picture in the air as her backseater warmed their radar up. With what they had onboard they could easily take Fitters and Fishbeds, that is until they've run out of their seven missiles. The Bears would need a bit more care, especially if they still had their rear guns. At the moment though, per flight leads commands they were staying as second to Eagle 02 and en route to engage the Fitters.

Some minutes later though hell has broken loose and the rookie from eastern Emmeria was thrown into her first furball with opponents much nimbler than her mount at speeds that were bound to get slower and slower. With little options left as the speedo kept dropping in these turns Annette pushed the throttles all the way forward until they stopped and got out in a circling descent. Having egressed far enough she put Eagle 3 in an afterburner climb back up to 20,000 feet and came around, just in time to do something about the bandits on her element lead's arse.

<<Eagle Three. Fox One.>> Second to last Sparrow. And whomever that was chasing Eagle 2 erupted seconds later in a brilliant fireball. Breathing out deeply, Annette pointed the Phantom slightly up again and brought it to bear on the bombers... that were now multiplying themselves apparently, what with Ghost Eye shouting at her.

Taking another deep breath Annette pushed the Phantom to full dry again as Matilda began burning through the jamming from the lead bomber. At about twenty klicks, almost three minutes later she got a lock and the last Sparrow they had onboard left its slot and began its spiralling dance towards the head of said bomber and took it off in yet another explosion. Annette Middleton, second lieutenant in the Republic of Emmeria's air force had now contributed to the death of at least a dozen stovies. Surprisingly... that didn't feel too awful...
<<Okay... Eagle Three reporting. One Bear and one fighter splashed. Who needs help?>>

by **Beiarusia** » Wed Jun 23, 2021 6:23 pm

Second Lieutenant Marceline "Mooncalf" Faucheux
November 24, 2015 // Vitoze, Emmeria

It was a beautiful night, the situation of the conflict notwithstanding, but, then again, Marceline had always had preference for the nighttime sky. Even before her diagnosis she would stare up to the blanket of stars overhead in amazement. Endless to infinity, her childlike wonderment not yet weakened despite the tragedy that had befallen her homeland. To be amongst them was to be free. To be free was to know serenity. Her father, too, had sought the freedoms of the sky, as had her brother, and she had hope that no regrets lingered to bind them forevermore to the soil they had escaped. Marceline aspired for such tranquility. To burn bright and to die amongst the stars she so adored.

The young pilot lay atop the fuselage of her Sukhoi: a Su-17 that had been acquired in the conflicts of southern Verusea, and one likely missing from an inventory somewhere should anyone care to look. Canopy raised and open, her helmet lay discarded atop the front-most seat, its visor -- a polarized and opaque orange -- glinting somewhat in the sparse lamplight. She herself was enjoying the coolness of the nighttime air, her flight-suit unzipped, and her gaze skyward to witness the stars overhead that soon would fade into morning. The squadron that she had been assigned to was on standby. A reactionary defensive should the aggressors push deeper into what little territory the REAF maintained. The war had not gone well for the Emmerians, an understatement to be sure, but for the mercenary it was an opportunity, one that Vigil, her WSO, had been quick to seize upon. Marceline was not one for contract negotiations, so the Osean was good for at least something. Of course, the nuance of the conflict was not something that she understood, nor did she particularly want to. The REAF needed pilots and Marceline needed an excuse to keep flying. She wasn't being paid to debate the politics of the war anyhow. She left that to Vigil.

It was nearing sunrise when the air raid sirens came to life. An ominous and overwhelming wail of an impending attack, and all at once the airbase scrambled into action. Marceline, accustomed to such developments, quickly dropped into the cockpit where her WSO had spent the shift. She readied herself (re-zipping her flight-suit and donning her helmet) as Vigil went through the pre-flight checks. Turbojet rumbling to life, the Sukhoi moved into the queue to await ATC clearance for takeoff.

Second Lieutenant Benjamin "Vigil" Antall

Campagna ATC: <<Lion Flight liftoff. Assassin Flight runway clearance granted. Takeoff when ready. All aircraft will be under airborne command's jurisdiction following takeoff. This is not a drill, repeat, not a drill.>>

Vigil reached over the pilot seat as they lined up on the runway after another element of Assassin. "Alright, flight time Calf. Let's hope you're not too rusty," he said. He placed two light knocks on her flight helmet from behind to which she returned only a passing glance. The engines of the Fitter roared into life, flaps down in takeoff, the lines og the runway passing by the cockpit at a faster and faster pace. Soon they gained flight and formed up into the element, and before long the AWACS confirmed the incoming bombers over the radio. Vigil was iffy about the enemy Fitters and the escorts but figured they'd be no problem in the end so long as the bombers got downed. They were beginning interception, and Vigil looked over the wings at their pylons. Air-to-Airs and gun pods, not the usual equipment with exception to the jammers, but they'd make do. They always did.

Merlin: <<Alright Hitman, from up and get ready for standard interception. Assassin, on me, climb to Angels eight point eight and maintain cruising speed at five-hundred knots on intercept course at triple zero. Enforcer, follow Voron's lead. It's time to get into this war, let's hope our Emmerian friends will keep up.>>

AWACS Ghost Eye: <<More bombers! Bearing 040, Angels 7, 90 kilometers out. Hurry up and intercept. There's more oncoming on long range, if they aren't taken down we'll be in for a world of hurt. Bombers at bearing Triple Zero are descending for bombing run.>>

So it began. Assassin broke formation to engage, as did Mooncalf and Vigil, as the first salvos of the battle were fired. Vigil went to the radar screen, spotting two bombers who looked to be trying to take advantage of the chaos. "Calf, I got two Bears who don't want any part of this, first one off our 9 o'clock. Master arm off. I'm locking them for you and switching to gun pods, let's bring them back into the fight." Their Fitter shed its spare tank and then banked left and into a dive, pulling away from the main furball that was forming between them and the escorts. They kept altitude up until they were up and above them. Mooncalf put them into an inverted dive for the first Bear, wings swept back, getting them into guns range. She pulled the trigger, snapping two seconds of gun pod fire into the left-wing of the Tu-95 and pulling up as they did, shaking the already aging airframe as they then began to pull up and away.

The Tu-95 had turned into a fireball, the left wing snapping off within a few seconds of that. Within seconds Vigil locked onto the second bomber that was a ways away, Mooncalf gaining altitude for the same trick. Again she crashed down recklessly, aimed for the wing of the bear, and let loose another two seconds of gun pod against them, the engines blowing apart into fireballs and becoming scrap metal as the structure of the wing tore away. Vigil turned around to confirm the kill of the last Bear, but upon stretching himself to look for it, saw instead two Mig-21s coming towards them. He turned back around as quickly, "We may have overextended, Calf, got two 21's coming for us, what do you want to do?"

Immediately the Fitter pulled level, banking into a turn to bring them back towards friendly units as the pilot keyed the radio.

Mooncalf: <<Zis is Assassin-Three, callsign Mooncalf. Priority target shot down. Bandits trailing at six o'clock. Falling back.>>

Kills: Tu-95 x2

LOADOUT:
- 30mm NR-30 Autocannon x1 (80/80)
- UPK-23 Gun Pod x2 (180/280)(180/280)
- Drop Tank (dropped)
- R-60 Aphid IR Missile x4
- R-73 Archer IR Missile x2

by **Tayner** » Wed Jun 23, 2021 6:42 pm

Captain Samuel 'Merlin' Daniel
Campagna Airport, Vitoze, Emmeria
November 24, 2015

AWACS Ghost Eye: <<More bombers! Bearing 040, Angels 7, 90 kilometers out. Hurry up and intercept. There's more oncoming on long range, if they aren't taken down we'll be in for a world of hurt. Bombers at bearing Triple Zero are descending for bombing run.>>

Rattler: <<Copy Assassin-Five, breaking formation and moving to assist.>>

Marlin: << Assassin Two, watch your six, two of those bandits broke off, go evasive. >>

What was that I said about tunnel vision? Dan thought to himself as two MiG-21s broke away from Frog after Rattler chased them off, only to fall in line behind the Mirage. Dan broke his intercept course, and dove to fall in line with the two fishbeds. One broke off of Rattler, the other maintaining pursuit. Another game of cat an mouse, bob and weave, until that solid tone that pilots loved and hated rang out.

Merlin: << Fox two! >>

The missile struck true, Dan having a good angle and the maneuverability to line up an easy shot. The fishbed's pilot bailed before their munitions and fuel erupted into a ball of fire, the F-5 zooming past the debris as a parachute unfurled below. Now came the next. Dan watched as the fishbed tried to keep pace with Rattler as she tried to keep pace with the fishbeds on Frog. A true conga line. Again, he dove into the fray, falling in line and waiting for his opening. The fishbed became less aggressive towards Rattler, but kept pursuit, awaiting an opportunity to strike without allowing them to be exposed for too long. The MiG managed for longer than most, but Dan saw an opportunity as they dove and got into a turn.

Merlin: << Rattler, bank right! >>

Dan needed the Mirage to draw the MiG across his sights, and the pilot did so. Dan was prepared, and just like he predicted, the MiG followed, crossing right through the path of Dan's guns.

Merlin: << Guns guns guns! >>

Tracers tore through the MiG, and Rattler's maneuver had removed them from any position to receive collateral damage. As the shells exploded along the fuselage of the MiG, it's starboard wing was torn before the pilot ejected and the aircraft began it's fiery decent towards the earth.

Merlin: << Scratch two fishbeds, Rattler, keep covering Frog, I'm breaking off to intercept the bandits chasing Assassin Three. >>

by **Shyluz** » Wed Jun 23, 2021 7:35 pm

2LT. Zéphyrine Roux "F.R.O.G." de Saint-Hadrien
November, 2015 // Somewhere Over Vitoze, Emmeria

Zéphyrine slammed into the straps, pulling hard at the controls and slamming down her rudder as she threatened to take the MiG-21 into a stall. Most of her five pursuers had been driven off--one was taken out, others had broken off and Assassin had well and truly started the party. Greasy smears of black smoke crisscrossed the early morning sky as Fitters, Fishbeds and Bears engaged in a grand old fight. Things were getting chaotic, complicated. She strained her neck behind her. Two Fishbeds were persistent in their desire to send her right into the weeds. Maybe they'd known the crew of the Bear that had disintegrated? No matter.

F.R.O.G.: <<Eyes up, Rattler,>>

Zéphyrine needed to bleed speed fast, and the Fishbed dance line was closing fast. She grinned and braced for the gee's, switching over to her cannon.

F.R.O.G.: <<Braking!>>

She flung the airbrakes open, and the canvas straps dug deeper as her breath was forced from her lungs. Her plane shot back towards the rear of the line, and she shut the brakes after a mere moment of increased drag. The bandits behind her shot into view, and she squeezed down the plastic trigger her plane chattered and bucked as it coughed a stream of green tracers, stitching the entire length of the first Bandit's fuselage with twenty-three mil shells. The Fishbed held steady for a split second before promptly exploding.

F.R.O.G.: <<Splash a Fishbed!>>

Zéphyrine dived through the cloud of smoke left from the unfortunate bandit, soot and oil streaking across her windscreen as she gunned the afterburners. She spotted the second Fishbed, the pilot desperately attempting harsh turn to face the wrathful banshee behind him. Unfortunately for him, F.R.O.G. had already warmed a seeker. As the tone solidified, the pair went into a joust. The bandit and his lance of shells, and Zéphyrine with her lance of fire. She squeezed the trigger and broke low, watching as the contrail whipped through green Stovie tracers, flying well and true into a head-on detonation. The joust was over, and her foe had been decapitated, his headless corpse lazily arcing a black plume down towards the earth. She released a breath she hadn't realized she'd been holding, and belatedly announced as she ascended:

F.R.O.G.: <<Fox-two, splash another Fishbed. Thanks for the help back there Assassin-Two, five-on-one is a bit steep, even for my tastes.>>

Merde, she thought, Merlin'll have my ears for this stunt.

by **Ubaria** » Wed Jun 23, 2021 8:07 pm

_{14th November, 2015
0600 Hours - Local Time
Dana Fischer
Vitoze, Republic of Emmeria
Engaging}

"Come on, come on"

Dana lurched restlessly against her flight restraints. Granted the Draken's airframe by now was almost as twice as old as it's pilot so it could be forgiven for the odd technical malfunction, yet it hadn't done her any favours or made a great impression when the enemy was barrelling towards the front door with a wing of Bombers and the aircraft had decided to stall itself on the taxiway. A handful of technicians had thankfully managed to restart the craft and get it sent on it's way a mere 10 minutes later, though with the enemy fast approaching that may as well have been 10 hours for all the good it had done. Nevertheless, the Saab's single RM6-C Turbofan engine was now bellowing at full chat, a funnel of orange and blue flame incandescently glowing from it's exhaust nozzle and propelling it at twice the speed of sound through the Emmerian morning skies.

"Oil pressure ... nominal". Dana had her mind and eyes on things other than the vista. She scanned the instruments up and down several times a minute, praying that nothing more would go wrong, another engine flameout and she'd drop like a stone and she really didn't want to start her mercenary career out as the woman who never even made it off the airbase. She'd probably already made a few enemies by holding up the aircraft to her rear, and as one of the fastest interceptors of the group her presence against enemy bombers was invaluable, after all it was the Draken's bread and butter. This was purely what it was built to do. Clung to the undercarridge were two RB-28 missiles, which were essentially Osean AiM-4 Falcon's and two RB-24's, also Osean made AiM-9 Sidewinders which were located on the outer delta pylons. Enough to wrech any Tupolev's day.

<< Ghost Eye. Enforcer-2. Requesting bogey dope. >>

<< Enforcer-2. 2 Stack, thirteen MiG-21 Fishbed's Three-oh-one for twenty, Angels eight. Hot. Break. Stack seven Su-17 Fitter's. Three-oh-nine for twenty two. Angels Eight. Hot. Be advised. Friendly aircraft have merged. Check your targets. How copy? >>

<< Enforcer-2. Good copy. Friendly birds have merged. >>

Dana reigned in the throttle some and the whine of the Turbofan engine situated mere feet behind her faded into a more of a low rumble. Up ahead she could already see the winding jet contrails and several tails of black smoke emanating from the already stricken bombers. She cursed in her native tongue. It seemed the party had kicked off without her, though there were still the escorts to clean up and they still posed a viable threat to Vitoze and the Campagna Base.

<< Enforcer-2 to Enforcer-1. Rolling in hot. Sorry i'm late >>

The battlezone approached. A turning fight had broken out between the multiple planes of Hitman Flight and the Estovakian escorts. Dana needn't consult her radar as most of the contacts were now within visual range and among friendly forces, she'd have to discern hostiles by eye. Incidentally the Sukhoi Su-17 had been one of her training aircraft and she recognized it's outline anywhere. Two blew past the friendly fighter picket and began rolling into aggressive attacking turns. Dana moved her own craft into an intercept vector, at least one of the enemy fighters would pass off her nose. Adrenaline began to kick in. Training had prepared her for this, yet everything in actual combat felt drastically different, especially in such a foreign aircraft in such foreign circumstances. She began breathing hard as the G-Forces began draining the blood from her brain towards her legs, through faded vision she saw the blotted outline of the Estovakian fighter pass her by just as she smoothed out of the turn. She was on it's tail.

<< Enforcer-2. Bandit engaged. >>

Fitter pilot had seen her and began their own defensive roll downwards, cutting a swift curve through a nearby brushing of clouds. Dana followed through, turning harder than the Sukhoi to bring her missiles within their firing parameters. A growl began gnawing at her ears through her headset. The signature lock tone of the Sidewinders turned from a growl into a high-pitched buzz to signify a lock had been achieved. Without hesitancy, Dana clutched the weapon release trigger on her flight yoke and the Draken jolted as the missile separated from it's mounting. A brisk *whoosh* followed, the missile sped from the underside of the craft, it's orange rocket motor blew a trail of white smoke in it's wake. The Sidewinder had been famed for it's effectiveness and here was no different, the missile turned to outpace the Fitter's turn and just as the pilot pumped flares from his aircraft, the missile had already found it's quarry. A blossoming of metal fragments burst forth from the missile's warhead and along with it's explosive force, rendered the enemy's aircraft all but useless as the force blew a hole clean through his undercarridge.

Dana watched this unfold. A mix of excitement filled her, but also a tinge of dread and empathy. This was a significant moment in her career, one she never expected to achieve and now that the moment was there she had no idea how to feel. For a moment she thought about her father, how he had the misfortune of being in the same situation as this Estovakian. In his final moments, was he scared? Did he have any final words? Or did it happen so fast he had no idea what had happened? Dana wasn't so sure which one was worse. However, a little of her initial anxiety faded as she watched the enemy pilot eject from his craft, the chute soon following.

<< Enforcer-2 ... Bandit neutralized. >>

"Just one ... it's not over yet" She reassured herself. This was far from over, if her mind worried over every enemy pilot she shot down, she was sure to be joining them soon enough.

Sirin
Armament
1x 30mm ADEN cannon (100 Rounds)
1x Rb-24 (AiM-9)
2x Rb-28 (AiM-4)

Kills
1x Su-17 Fitter

by **Anowa** » Wed Jun 23, 2021 8:23 pm

1st Lt. Victoria "Abel" Cain
November 24th, 2015 // Vitoze, Emmeria

As the call for Lion-3 to cover herself came over radio, Abel lazily looked in the mirror to find the ancient airframe of her wingman struggling to catch up. She couldn't help but sigh.

Ahead SAM sites attempted to shoot down the Fitters and Fishbeds now started to descend and swarm the ground stations. Most targets were hit, but then again so were the SAMs. Fire erupted on the ground in a few places as ARMs hit their marks.

Looking back in her cockpit mirror, she saw both the MiGs following her and-

...Both.

Abel: <<Lion-3 Break break!>>

Abel throttled back, threw up airbrakes and flaps, and pulled back hard on the stick. Her speedometer dropped like a bad habit as both the MiG-17 with tracers flying past it, and the MiG-21 that snuck up for guns both blew past. Airbreak fell back into place, flaps were settled, and the throttle was once again pushed to it's max. The airframe rattled under the stress of a cobra before the vehicle settled back into level flight.

Whether it was Abel's warning, or the sudden surprise of a Draken dumping that much speed that quickly, it was enough to save the MiG-17, but not enough to fully protect it, mangled steel could be seen in a few spots, namely a few points on the tail and the left wing. It was for all intents and purposes superficial, nothing was leaking, there was no smoke, and there wasn't a big pink stain along the inside of the canopy. Lion-3 had been bitten by the dogs of war but was alive and flying.

Lock tone echoed through the cabin, a backup plan as the Draken blew past the wounded MiG-17 and went in on the Fishbed for guns. Rapidly approaching the slower Fishbed, the radar gunsight flicked in to view and Abel pulled it in to sight almost on autopilot. A duo of quick taps and a duo of 30mm bursts found their way into the MiG-21, the HE shells causing the fuel tanks to detonate on the spot. A massive fireball began to dive towards the ground. Abel had to peel her eyes away as the canopy popped and the seat ejected from the wreck, but said seat, and the still attached pilot was on fire.

Abel: <<Lion-3, Are you alright?>>

by **Offer Erapia** » Wed Jun 23, 2021 8:52 pm

2nd. Lt Adam Winters, Enforcer flight

Adam had been flying in close formation with his flight. The Su-17 and the harrier along with his Mirage looked like something out of a movie. The young pilot couldn't help but chuckle to himself at the strange batch of fighters. Besides from the occasional chatter over comms nothing much happened. That was until about five minutes later when Adams radar suddenly picked up contacts. They were soon identified as fitters and fish beds. As this was happening a message crackled to life in his headset

AWACS Ghost Eye: <<More bombers! Bearing 040, Angels 7, 90 kilometers out. Hurry up and intercept. There's more oncoming on long range, if they aren't taken down we'll be in for a world of hurt. Bombers at bearing Triple Zero are descending for bombing run.>>

Reaching down he engaged his weapons systems and slightly broke from formation getting some distance in preparation for the inevitable merge. As the enemy aircraft crossed the threshold of about twenty eight miles Adam began seeing the tiniest and faintest of black specs above him at his twelve o'clock. He watched as they crept closer ignoring the demand of surrender that the enemy had blared in his headset. He smirked at the fact the enemy had the audacity to issue a demand for surrender. A surely have ass attempt to demoralize morale.

Following his flight lead he pulled on the stick his plane pointing up to meet the descending enemy. His mirages massive engine granted hi. An excellent thrust to weight ration allowing his plane to maintain a respectable speed of 650 knots. The incoming aircraft began to get closer what was once a speck was now roughly the size of a nickel. It was only a mere matter of seconds that they flew by their engines roaring in afterburner.

<<Jester: Enforcer 5 Engaging.>>

He snapped in his mic quickly as he pulled back on the stick hard. The metal beast powered through the vertical and into the loop where he came around facing the enemy's six. As he descended he began scoping for potential targets. he observed the classical dogfight allies on enemies and enemies on allies. The latter of the two was quickly taken care of with his flight lead, Enforcer 1, blowing a fitter out of the sky with a fox two.

His continued search of unaccompanied foes led him to discover a lone fitter. It had just dropped a payload which detonated right next to a SAM sight effectively destroying it. Adam quickly followed he began locking up the blacked out aircraft his radar searching then finding and then tracking. The audio in his headset went quickly from a blip to a hard flatline tone which indicated a good track. His finger quickly squeezed the red trigger a single R550. Magic was sent off the rail.

>>Jester: Enforcer 5, Fox 1!<<

He had no doubt the enemy was getting RWR warning as the trail of white smoke followed him. This was only cemented by the fact that the su-17 had cranked hard to the left and proceeded to dump flares. The missile might have missed if not for the fact that his opponent had yet to come off of afterburner. From his cockpit he watched the primary explosion of the missile as it detonated right above the planes spine. This explosion was quickly followed by another as the planes fuel ignited effectively blowing it to smithereens.

>>Jester: Enforcer 5, splash one

He cranked his stick hard over and back to ensue a high G turn. He could feel his chest being crushed against his seat as the plane came around to face back towards the dogfight. In the midsts of battle another plane, this time a fishbed, shrieked downwards likely diving to escape a missile or potential lock. Adam capitalized on the opportunity he flicked his aircraft towards the incoming fighter. They soon merged and Adam turned his head, watching the MIG as it too twisted around trying to get on his six. As he engaged in a two circle fight he eyed his speedometer. He distinctly remembered the mirages biggest downfall....energy retention.

Although luckily for him he was heading into this engagement going well over 400 knots which, at higher speeds, the mirage bested the Mig 21 in the turn fight. That fact alone didnt stop him from periodically checking his speedometer. As he buried the stick in his gut he could feel the intense weight of the G forces crushing down on his chest. His suit instinctively tightened around his arms and legs but this was not enough. Adam tensed his stomach and legs trying to keep his blood from leaving his skull. He watched through the grey haze that swelled in his vision as the Mig slowly crept into his reticle. Through the rush of blood pounding in his ears he could faintly hear the flatline like tone and squeezed the trigger.

<<Jester: Enforcer 5, Fox....1.>>

He groaned out into the mic fighting against the crushing weight on his chest. The missile flew off the rail and lazily turned toward the Mig. But unlike his previous engagement his missile would not strike home. The Mig pilot was smart he killed his after burner and dropped a multitude of flares. As if it wasn't worse enough the Mig tightened down his turn Adams missile overshot and flew off into the vast sky. Adam gripped the stick and pulled it back with all his strength. His metal mistress obliged and tightly followed suite of the enemy aircraft. To keep himself from blacking out he took a deep breath and held it in a technique commonly referred to as "the hic".

Understanding that he was at a disadvantage in a prolonged two circle fight he made a quick decision. He waited for the perfect opportunity the Fishbed had started to win the battle and was now creeping up on Adams six. As soon as he saw the Migs nose come around he quickly reversed the turn and pulled up using the vertical.

<<Jester: this is Enforcer 5 I got a MIG on my six, Im defending

He alerted his fellow wingmen as he suddenly rolled his mirage forcing a rolling scissor. The two machines rolled and looped around each other. But Adams Mirage naturally bled off speed thanks to the wing design. So in this instance Adams biggest weakness has ironically become his greatest strength. His speed quickly bled off which forced the Mig to shoot out in front of him in what was a classic textbook overshoot. The enemy pilot, realizing his fatal mistake, tried to roll into a dive to escape back into the two circle but it was too late. Adam pulled his nose ahead leading the enemy which was just behind his circular reticle. He squeezed the trigger the dual 30mm roared to life punching a dozen fist sized holes in the Migs spine. The plane in front of him belched thick trails of white and black smoke. A fire soon overtook the rear of the plane and it spun out of control. The canopy burst off a few seconds later and as Adam passed the falling wreck he saw the pilots seat pop into the air which was quickly trailed by a shoot. Adam weakly fell back in his seat gasping for air his body racked with exhaustion from the intense yet short fight.

<<Jester: Enforcer 5,.....splash two

by **Herador** » Wed Jun 23, 2021 9:16 pm

2nd Lt's James "Bones" Goreman & Neisha "Dirty" Deeds
Khesed Island, 20 km north of Vitoze, Emmeria
November, 2015

Bones: <<Assassin 1, Assassin 4, in the air and inbound, gate open. On station in two minutes.>>

Neisha was fuming in the back. "We bought a piece of fucking junk!"

"It was in a junkyard Neesh." James reminded her absently, desperately tapping the fuel gage hoping to make it read the correct amount instead of empty.

"It was Mothballed!" She shot back.

"Same thing in that yard." He gave up tapping. "Either way, we're in the air now."

"Too late!" Oh? James raised an eyebrow, she was actually this angry. "The ground crew fucked up. Hector got to Vitoze just fine. Now all the big money is gone." James heard something thud behind him and wondered what part of the elderly pain she just hit, electing to ignore her change of heart regarding the plane.

"It's a miracle that it did Neesh, I'm sure the crew did a fine job, they got us back in the air fast enough. We were never going to score big on this one. Just get ready and we'll try to bag something to make the top worth it." He slowly eased down on the throttle as they approached the fighting, tiny shapes danced in the sky just ahead of them.

Bones: <<Ghost Eye, Assassin 4, merging with friendlies.>>

"Lotta stuff on-screen James, a lot of it's friendly though, they've been doing work up here." Neesha said, unable to keep the bitterness out of her voice.

"Glad to hear it." James said, anxiously playing with the weapons release flap on his stick. "Get the Sky Shadow's up and find us a target Neesh."

James kept Hector on the outskirts of the fighting, he was more than willing to let the fighters take on escorts in dogfights and bide his time while they waited for an opportunity. During their circle, Neisha came to life again when she spotted a MiG break away from the furball close to them. No one had seemed to notice them until now and the kill looked easy.

"Bandit left and low James, get us in position." Neisha couldn't keep the excitement out of her voice and James smiled despite himself, it was good to see his friend this excited again. He angled them on an intercept, waiting for Neisha to do her work in the back seat. "Hold tight. One second." She mumbled, doing whatever she did. "Got him! Tracking. Sidewinder armed."

Flipping the release flap, James pressed his mic stud,

Bones: <<Assassin 4, Fox-Two.>>

The AIM-9 streaked out and closed quickly. Maybe the pilot didn't have the time to evade or the dogfighting had taken it out of them, but the Sidewinder connected and blew a chunk out of the MiG's right side.

Bones: <<Assassin 4, splash one MiG.>>

"We're in it now, buddy!" Neisha cheered, James saw a middle finger raised behind him in the canopy's reflection. She had certainly cheered up.

Ace Combat: Ashes of War (IC/Closed)

Ace Combat: Ashes of War (IC/Closed)

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