Ace Combat: Ashes of War (IC/Closed)

by **Kyraina** » Fri Jul 16, 2021 1:32 pm

Capt. Spyro "Drifter" Beretta

"Yes, Cap, it is Completely different then being a Trash Hauler, Hell I wouldn't be here if I hadn't already passed Fighter training one, just didn't graduate. Well that and somehow I kept my head when the Stovies hit Gracemeria. Wasn't easy flying a Herky Bird out of there as that damn flying carrier appeared and launched those god forsaken missiles."

He took a further moment and finally smiled at the much older pilot

"Thank you for being patient with me. I fully understand. I want to apologize for snapping at one of your pilots over comms, but I'm not gonna set there and let other pilots call each other names over open comms either. I'll my Squadron to play nice with Y'all. To be honest we need to start working together, instead of doing our own thing. We almost got our ass kicked the last two missions because we are fighting as two separate units instead of one big flexible team. It's driving me nuts that we haven't been able to do that so far. If we don't soon, we are all gonna fail. Y'all lose a paycheck, well I lose my home. I'll talk toy guys asap."

He stook his hand out for Dan to shake.

by **Beiarusia** » Fri Jul 16, 2021 4:27 pm

Hastur wrote:First Lieutenant Miriam “Rattler” Lochte

Sapim wrote:First Lieutenant Takhmina "Voron" Abduloeva

Second Lieutenant Marceline “Mooncalf” Faucheux
Afternoon // November 27, 2015 // Campagna Airport, Vitoze, Emmeria

Miriam's scribbling slowed and then stopped completely as she peered up to address Benjamin, a slight grimace betraying her feelings somewhat in regards to the debriefing -- the Belkan showed no admiration for the Colonel -- but quickly it was replaced with something more friendly as she turned down the gratitude that Marceline offered. The woman was modest, a trait that Marceline appreciated.

"You baited them," Marceline insisted, but was soon distracted by the arrival of the flight leader of Enforcer who as well praised the pilots of the Sukhoi. Marceline stepped aside, revealing Miriam who had been obscured to Abduloeva. "I was just doing my job."

Marceline noticed that Miriam had stiffened to the approach of Abduloeva, and she quickly asked how it felt to be honored by the Colonel with MVP. Marceline looked to Miriam and then to Abduloeva, stepping back to not be caught between the two, but not quite enough to remove herself from the conversation. If she was at all honest with herself, Assassin had done much to carry the operation, and although she held no dislike towards Enforcer Marceline took the snub personally, even if she kept such feelings to herself. This was simply another job. If she survived the war she'd likely encounter more commanders like Cain, angry to a fault, so it was best to simply ignore it.

She snapped back to focus. "Enforcer did well considering what we were given," she added.

by **Tayner** » Fri Jul 16, 2021 10:17 pm

Captain Samuel 'Merlin' Daniel
November 27th, 2015 // Sipli Plateau, Emmeria

"Thank you for being patient with me. I fully understand. I want to apologize for snapping at one of your pilots over comms, but I'm not gonna set there and let other pilots call each other names over open comms either. I'll my Squadron to play nice with Y'all. To be honest we need to start working together, instead of doing our own thing. We almost got our ass kicked the last two missions because we are fighting as two separate units instead of one big flexible team. It's driving me nuts that we haven't been able to do that so far. If we don't soon, we are all gonna fail. Y'all lose a paycheck, well I lose my home. I'll talk toy guys asap."

"I'm glad we we able to settle this. I don't want to lose this war any less than you do, it's more than the paycheck keeping me here." He said, shaking the man's hand. There was truth in his voice, Dan wouldn't know what he would do if he were grounded, and the need for Mercenaries was growing thin on the international scale. Either nations couldn't pay them, or they wouldn't pay them, the Emmerians being the exception because they found themselves in such a position where they needed bodies in seats. "Take it easy, Cap." Dan joked, before excusing himself and returning to his quarters.

He was saddled with paperwork, everything from his squadron's maintenance requests, munitions expenditures, and other administrative paperwork needed to be reviewed and signed. He would look over the documents, make sure things matched with the AARs, and sign off on each one. The one downside of being fucking old, the burdens of command. Dan thought to himself as he tore through a stack of paperwork. After he finished enough for today, he reached into his duffel bag, pulling out a bottle of scotch, before going off to find a glass. He’d pour one, and flick on the satellite TV, catching an Osean NASCAR race.

It’s been a while since I’ve seen one of these. Dan thought. It was something different from the Formula One races, that was for sure.

by **Dayganistan** » Sat Jul 17, 2021 7:22 pm

1st Lt. Takhmina "Voron" Abduloeva
November 27th, 2015 // Campagna Airport, Vitoze, Emmeria

Takhmina noticed the Belkan woman, Miriam, didn't seem thrilled about seeing a Yukotbanian. She couldn't blame her for that. Not once but twice had Yuktobania teamed up with their long time rival to foil Belka's plans for greatness. Takhmina held no ill will to the average Belkan, not all of them were involved with crazy conspiracies or war crimes. The Belkan had anger towards Yuktobania in her eyes for sure, but Takhmina would greet her with a friendly expression. They're on the same team here and there's no sense to let national rivalries mess with any chance of unit cohesion. The merc unit was doing well enough so far and ruining that momentum because of geopolitical squabbles would not be a great idea. However, as the Belkan woman spoke, her expression became one that was less hostile. "So, how does it feel being bestowed most valued flight from Colonel Choleric?” the Belkan woman asked.

"We don't deserve it, Assassin did more work," Takhmina said. "We just made less mistakes. I'm not happy with the performance of Enforcer and one of our pilots deciding to gun down a company of Estovakian infantry in retreat. But war is war, what can you do?"

The Erusean woman, Marceline, interjected. "Enforcer did well considering what we were given."

"We all did good out there today, we did our job better than the nationals. Command should have told us that Alpha was supposed to be a diversion." Takhmina's mention of command's decision to withhold this information carried some venom with it, she would have preferred to know this beforehand and maybe she could have positioned Enforcer to make up for the shortcomings of the Emmerian nationals.

by **Herador** » Sat Jul 17, 2021 11:12 pm

2nd Lt's James "Bones" Gorman & Neisha "Dirty" Deeds
Assassin 5
Vitoze, Emmeria
27 November, 2015

Neisha had gotten up to leave as soon as the briefing was over, leaving James sitting in the swarm of pilots and aging chairs. Pushing through the crowd he made his way outside and into the afternoon chill.

"Hey!" James called out to a few members of the mercenary squadron's ground crew. "Have any of you seen Neisha come by?" They looked confused. "Dirty?" Still nothing. "About four foot five and swears a lot?"

"Ooooh." They all nodded together, the man with the highest rank pointed towards the back of the building. "Stormed off that way sir."

"Thanks, have a good one." He nodded to them all and trotted off.

It didn't take long to find her, she was sat with her arms around her knees next to a dumpster wearing James' jacket that she had taken just before taking off and smoking what James assumed was one of his cigarettes.

"You know you make money too, right?" He asked with a grin. "You can buy your own smokes."

She shrugged. "They taste better when I steal them from you." It was certainly a Neisha joke, but she wasn't smiling.

James sat down beside her. The pair had been in this situation before and Neisha had never taken it well. For a long time he didn't say anything, only taking his pack out of the most recent jacket Neisha had "borrowed" from him before settling back in to watch the sun and the mountains. We could live here. He thought to himself. When we finally get rich off this, we could come back and get a farm or something. It wouldn't be the worst thing in the world, out of all the shit heaps the two had passed through over the years, Vitzoe was both the least "shit" and "heap" of them all.

"Aren't you cold?" She finally asked.

"Bit, yeah, but someone decided she didn't want to get her coat from the ready room before we turned up here, and I'm just a bit bigger than you are."

Neisha finally turned to look at him and flashed a little smile as she gave his arm a little punch. "Thanks."

"For what?"

Neisha just gestured vaguely before slowly standing. "It smells like piss back here."

"I'd wager that's because someone pissed back here," James said with a wince as he stood back up. "And considering our afternoon just opened up, what do you feel up to?"

His WSO thought for a moment, scratching her nose with his coat's sleeve before starting to walk off James following close behind. Back in front of the building, James caught sight of a Marcy, Benjamin, and Miriam talking to Enforcers lead, Takhmina.

"Come on, let's go hang out?" Neisha looked over and turned away, "Oh no you don't." He laughed, snagging the coat's arm and began to lead her over. Waving at the group, he called out "Hey all!"

by **Kyraina** » Sun Jul 18, 2021 12:23 am

1st Lt. Zach "Knight" Steele
There was a moment of palpable silence as Cain looked up from the stack of AARs, his eyes narrowed, "If you're dead set on bringing up the past Knight, I can be sure to bring up a few things about a gunship crewman to the Joint Chiefs. I'm sure you'd love to explain to Hitman that your tendency to break your contract to defect and shoot down friendly pilots is the reason you got assigned barrier troops."

The man began stacking the AARs back into their binder, "I have neither the time nor the patience to play your piddly fucking mind games, Steele. I have a meeting to attend where the remaining command staff of our military discuss how the fuck we're gonna plan a breakout when a quarter of our available ground forces are scrap or dead. Then after that I'm heading our with a squadron of 15 nuggets to hopefully get them graduated before we lose more people."

"Look Tombstone, I came here to apologize, I don't regret what we did, we did it for in our right mind was the right reasons, plus Jax was afraid that if we didn't fire on y'all, The DAF Might. I would have tried to find you alot sooner, but I got recalled back into RNPAF as soon as I got home. Hasn't been Easy for me to live with the guilt of it all. I wanted to come clean to you, even if it was 20 years later then what I wanted to do." He looked at his former squadron mate and sighed.

"Maybe I can help, I fought two wars back on the Usean Continent, where they had us pushed all the way back. I was just a squadron commander during the Usean Rebellion, but I helped plan the ISAF Breakout when they was trapped on North Point. You need all the help y'all can get, and no real experience with planning a breakout op. I'm willing to help the best I can, with what ever rope you give me, Cain."

The man simply gestured over Knight's shoulder at the individuals still departing, a few of them casting somewhat cautious looks Cain's way. "A hell of a way to apologise. I don't know what the fuck they do in North Point, but typically shit like this happens in an office." the man picked up the stack and began walking to the door, "Joint Chiefs don't listen to me when I say we need operational transparency, they're sure as fuck not gonna listen to a gunship side-seater. If you want the Joint Chiefs to listen you're gonna have to prove that what happened today was a fluke and not the standard."

"You Know me, I'll do Just that." The older of the two men smiled, albit a sad one. "Look, I returned to North Point right after the shit in Seian, and got recalled from retirement by the RNPAF. I heard you made it to the Belkan War. I also know from Tyler, that Jax went down in the Belkan War and has been MIA ever since. Anytime I tried to Look into this Operation Ravage that he went down in, there's a lot of mystery surrounding what happened. I was wondering if you knew what happened to him."

Cain spoke plainly as they both walked down the hall, "Plane's avionics probably got fried to shit from seven nukes going off. Me and Voychek barely managed to keep afloat and keep track of each other. That's only because we could actually see each other in the clouds and our craft were EM hardened. Had a hell of a time fighting off the Belkans and the AWWNB defectors, so if not the EMP, they probably got him."

"Damn it. Atleast he went down fighting or flying." Zach replied as the dou walked the halls, then He saw someone that looked awfully familiar speaking to Spyro. He realized that the guy looked like Dan, if Dan was alive, 20 years older, and had scars. "The Man there talking to the Griffin Squadron Commander, He look Familiar to you. He looks like Gunny, If Gunny was alive and 20 years older, and not a ice cube."
Anowa, Upsetti Spaghetti — Today at 2:28 PM
"Yeah. Fishing trawler picked him up back in... 93. He was there for Belka too last I checked." The duo had arrived at Cain's office, "In any event. I have to file these away and fuck off to that meeting."

"Good luck Jason, I'm Here if you need me. I been in your shoes, and I definitely don't envoy you. Again I'm sorry about what happened in Seian, and I won't let you do again. Anyway I'm Gonna go talk to the bastard that's suppose to be a Ice Cube." Zach was going to stick his hand for Jason to shake but decided he needed to earn that, so He simply nodded and turned on his Heel.

He watch the two Captains shake hands and went their separate ways. He followed the supposed Dead Man and watch him enter a office/bedroom, He knocked on the door and Yelled.

"You Daft Bastard, Get your bloody arse out here!!!! That's with all do respect, You bloody wanker, I mean Captain."

1st Lt. Tyler "Razorback" Bradford

Had walked out of the front of the building that held the impromptu briefing room, and saw a gather of Hitman's pilots from different flights. There was Marcy, Benjamin, and Miriam talking to Enforcers lead, Takhmina. He then saw James and Neisha walk up and join the group of 4. Tyler started to debate on joining them, when he remembered that the crew would be getting stuff together for a after mission BBQ, something they did after the return from any successful mission.Might as well invite them. It can't hurt to try to get to know our squadron mates. He thought to himself. So He walked over to the group of six that had formed.

"Hey we are having a grill out on the other side of the hangers after sundown, if Y'all want to join." He asked as he walked up to the group.

Capt. Spyro "Drifter Beretta

Spyro quickly left the older Captain and went about his way to find the procrument office to request a newer plane and see if He couldn't get a back seater.

by **Kassaran** » Sun Jul 18, 2021 10:39 am

Capt. Romolo 'Sciabola' Beninati
27 November, 2015 // Debriefing

It didn't take long for Sciabola to gather his things. Cain was always known to be a hothead, and he was sure the man's personal physician was likely well-paid given that he'd not already died of an aneurysm from the effort of not exploding on everyone in the room. He'd felt the heat in the man's voice as he'd chewed him out, and while Beninati understood his failings in the mission, he'd not felt any regret for it. Being angry never was a good way to get subordinates to respect you, only to get them to fear you. As he stood up, gathering his belongings in the leather satchel he'd brought in, his ears perked. Eyes slipping to the side and a wry smirk forming for a ghost of a moment as a ghost from the Colonel's past came back to haunt him. Or likely he'd not felt a thing about it.

Ramming a parachuting pilot? Naughty naughty colonel proud and haughty... not that you'd care enough to feel shame for it.

With a face once again stilled by control and no small measure of distraction by his own thoughts and plans taking shape, he left the room, making a directed effort to avoid confrontations with those around him. The blame may not have laid squarely on his shoulders, but he'd known he'd messed up enough to paint a target on his back for a few missions. It wouldn't take long though before he ended up seeing one of his own pilots and their WSO. It was Limaf, the younger firebrand whom had caused the outburst of comms chatter and it's succint breakdown. Stopping a few meters from her, raising an eyebrow as he considered her and how best to bring her back into line, he spoke up.

"Lieutenant Middleton, a moment of your time. And your Pherret."

by **Tayner** » Tue Jul 20, 2021 1:09 pm

Captain Samuel 'Merlin' Daniel
November 27th, 2015 // Sipli Plateau, Emmeria

"You Daft Bastard, Get your bloody arse out here!!!! That's with all do respect, You bloody wanker, I mean Captain." A voice sounded, after banging on the door.

That's a voice I hadn't heard in a while. Dan thought. He knew Steele was flying with them, as well as one of Jax's relatives. Up until now they had very little time to actually seek eachother out, between standing to for long shifts and sorties, not to mention paperwork. they just didn't have the time. Dan replied in kind, a joking manner using vocabulary that Oseans found offensive, despite every other swear word in the dictionary being fair game. "Oi, the door's open ya cunt, let yourself in General- I mean Leftenant, before I make your requisition paperwork disappear!" Dan jested, finding a second glass and placing it on the table, welcoming his countryman as they entered. "It's been a while, Zach. Sorry I haven't looked you up recently." Dan said as he held up a stack of paperwork. "And that's the stuff I haven't finished from the 24th, I still got the Sipili reports to file." He said, putting the folder back down and pouring a glass of scotch for his friend and offering it to him.

by **Anowa** » Wed Jul 21, 2021 8:16 am

MISSION 03.0: OPERATION WHIPLASH
BRIEF

1st Lt. Victoria "Abel" Cain
December 13th 2015 // Campagne Airport, Emmeria

Back in the main briefing room, with the proper seating and holotable, the so called Colonel Choleric stood at the head of the table as it booted up. It took a few seconds, and the man had to open up a couple of files from the touch screen before the layout of the city of Blackrock was displayed in a faux 3d on the table. Though as it lit up, it displayed the faces of every person in the room. And there were a lot of them. Even with seating most everyone was forced to stand.

"Right, today we'll be participating in the break out of the city of Blackrock. Due to updated operational security standards, you're getting the full shebang from word 'go' this time. Blackrock has a population of almost eighty three thousand people from the Census in 2013, the largest city on Khesed Island, it's landlocked with the Curzalani River merging with the Legioni River to move southwards towards Sipli. So the city is split in three. As it stands, the entirety of the Air Force and Army are participating in the operation, we even have every Nugget on tap armed up and flying today."

"It's close to the same with the Stovies. Aerial recon we could get showed that close to half of the remaining forces on the Island are stowed in the streets and fields in the Blackrock area. The rest are in Bartolomeo Fortress on Mount Marcello, but that's for another time."

"The area is being split in to four operations: Alpha, Bravo, Charlie, and Delta. Alpha is being covered on the ground by Quox and Steel Gunner Battalions. They'll be moving through the industrial park and striking at the old town, covered by Carpenter and Avalanche as top cover. Most of Old Town is occupied by infantry and light armor but they're all on ground level in a mostly residential area. Their infantry contingent will be dismounted to clear building by building. It's gonna be slow, and it's gonna fucking suck, but they volunteered on the single basis that they 'get top cover from someone competent', thus, the Navy lads. As they're expected to be spending most of the operation clearing the Old Town, it's highly likely they're not going to be participating elsewhere for the remainder of the operation."

"Bravo is a different story. Warlock is the ground element and will be moving in from the direct west rather than alongside the river. They'll be supported by name by Stingray and Sky Kid squadrons. Their main goal is to assault the downtown where a bulk of our forces are stationed in the skyscrapers there. Be cautious, as our folks have managed to manhandle field guns and anti air into the sides of Fabian Tower and are using direct fire to knock out surrounding buildings when occupied, so make sure you don't eat a 155 mike mike when your flying past. The main goal here is to simply get in, and escort our folks out, Warlock from then will push north towards the final section of the city."

"Charlie will focus on Blackrock International Airport. The largest air port on the island, it's housing an absolute fuck ton of Stovie vehicles and aircraft, and unfortunately, we can't let any of them in to the city proper. As such, Stork and hammerhead squadrons are gonna be leveling it. They'll be escorted by Windhover and Harvester."

"Hitman, Griffin and Kostroma will be providing general assistance through the whole operation as needed."

"At the point at which Charlie and Bravo operations are completed, Charlie's aircraft will RTB, as well as any aircraft that are out of ammo or low on fuel. Warlock will move across St. Giuseppe Bridge and in to Uptown. Covered by all remaining air forces. Their goal is to clear out the remainder of the city and hopefully push the remaining Estovakian ground forces out through the Trans Khesed Highway. At which point they're to be bombed, strafed, and blown up with extreme prejudice until surrender or death. Reminder that black flags and protected symbols are not to be fired upon unless they are explicitly committing perfidy or abusing the protection of said symbols."

"Any questions?"

by **Kyraina** » Wed Jul 21, 2021 10:30 am

Capt Spyro "Drifter" Beretta, Griffin 1/Lion 1
December 13th 2015 // Campagne Airport, Emmeria

"Sir, Will we be using the deicer solution they have here on our aircraft. Keeping our airspeed up won't work when we have to slow down to either verify targets or to even turn our aircraft around for another run. Also has the Meteorologist giving us a report on the weather. It tends to get very funky up there this time of the year. Also, Are Cluster Munitions cleared or are they a no go again?"

Drifter looked around st the assembled pilots, and over at his new WSO. While she was quite a looker, she had received her callsign Gorgon for a reason. Though to be honest Spyro didn't know much about Maria Sossa, other then she was a hell a WSO and she had a checkered past before and during the Air Force, but hadn't had any issues ever since 3 years ago. He had spent the past couple weeks with her but she hadn't opened up at all. Maybe this mission would change that.

by **Beiarusia** » Wed Jul 21, 2021 12:45 pm

Second Lieutenant Marceline “Mooncalf” Faucheux
December 13, 2015 // Campagna Airport, Vitoze, Emmeria

The past two weeks had been somewhat eventful. Assassin, outside of simply familiarizing themselves, had come to terms on how best to assist one another, this being a joint fund with the ultimate goal of dividing everything equally at war’s end. Marceline hadn’t been too interested in the money, wanting only to fly, so had agreed readily enough. In the meantime, Benjamin had seen to replacing the Fitter with a more capable aircraft. Marceline had been unaware, so had been surprised with an early Christmas and, despite her typical aloofness, had been excited to go over every inch of the Su-34. She had always admired the Flanker considering it was the very platform that her brother had flown during the war. The Fullback was similar enough, just suited to her own preferences.

Now, midway into December, the pilots had been gathered again for a new briefing. Marceline, as per usual, sat off to the side, near the others of Assassin, hidden as always behind her visor and flight-suit. The Emmerians were moving to retake the city of Blackrock. The operation was more-or-less straightforward, with some difficulties to contend with (such as clearing residential sectors, or the limitations imposed by skyscrapers), but thus far was nothing that would prove impossible to overcome.

Annoyingly, the locals would be handling the vast majority of the CAS in most sectors with the mercenaries providing support as necessary. Marceline, personally, disagreed with the orders to engage targets retreating from the city once all other objectives had been achieved.

One of the pilots of Griffin asked several questions back-to-back. Marceline then raised her hand, but instead of waiting to be called upon simply asked her own question. “Will any of the units be operating as a diversion? It would be prudent to know beforehand.” Her tone was flat, however, it was tainted with some passive-aggressiveness considering the failure to be given the full details during the last operation. She didn't much care how the Colonel perceived her tone, she simply wanted to be told everything if it would impact the sortie.

by **Kassaran** » Thu Jul 22, 2021 12:22 pm

Captain Romolo "Sciabola" Beninati
13 December, 2015 // Campagna Airport

Beninati's eyes narrowed as he assessed the overall situation laid out before them. There'd be a simultaneous three-prong strike on the city, and as had been brought up by others- the weather didn't look like it was going to be favorable to flyers. The Stovies had mostly pulled back their air cover according to the intelligence reports, but if the majority of their forces had been holing up in a city, there'd be a strong chance that the Stovies would be relying on additional air cover from the nearby airport. His eyes turned towards the layout of the attack. Eight B-52H's would be levelling the place, or at least the holding yards where the majority of the Stovie Quick-Reaction Forces would be holed up. Knocking out those would be critical in ensuring that the other prongs of the assault only had their sector's opposition forces to handle. There was no doubt in Sciabola's mind they'd be dug in like ticks to the airport, and armed to defend it too.

Watching as one of the mercenaries asked a question, he let his eyes flick between the older pilot and back to the battlefield map shown. There was enough present to fill most every basic requirement for a mission, as well as intent of the coordinating and higher units. But the trust they'd been shown lately, and in no small part due to his slowness to act, had been thin at best. For a moment, Sciabola paused, to let the Colonel say his part before raising his own hand. Upon being given leave to ask, he stood up, and indicated towards the airfield.

"Sir, Charlie is liable to be crawling with SAMs, and I doubt we nailed all of them in the last mission. What information do we have on their defensive emplacements and potential approaches to the airport. Additionally, intel regarding what they're holding, and where, so we don't end up flying into the bombing runs of the bombers would be nice. Isolating our potential approach vectors, and the windows in which we can conduct those attacks, would go a long way to ensuring Bravo and Alpha only have to handle their assigned forces and no Q-R-F."

He waited for the colonel's answer, and once given leave, sat back down.

by **Anowa** » Thu Jul 22, 2021 2:31 pm

1st Lt. Victoria "Abel" Cain
0605, December 13th 2015 // Campagne Airport, Emmeria

Kyraina wrote:"Sir, Will we be using the deicer solution they have here on our aircraft. Keeping our airspeed up won't work when we have to slow down to either verify targets or to even turn our aircraft around for another run. Also has the Meteorologist giving us a report on the weather. It tends to get very funky up there this time of the year. Also, Are Cluster Munitions cleared or are they a no go again?"

Cain barely gave Beretta a glance as he answered, "It's winter. So yes, we'll have deicer on your planes. Meteorologists says the city is going to be completely clear for the rest of the week, and boots on the ground say there's not a cloud as far as the eye can see. The former is 14 hours old, and the latter came in 20 minutes ago. Joint chiefs gave the green light for cluster munitions for the rest of the war, as much as it grinds my gears. You'll be told when they're barred from use, but keep in mind that this is a city with a potential civilian presence. Stovies and our own lads say they've been mostly evacuated, but there's likely to be stragglers."

Kassaran wrote:"Sir, Charlie is liable to be crawling with SAMs, and I doubt we nailed all of them in the last mission. What information do we have on their defensive emplacements and potential approaches to the airport. Additionally, intel regarding what they're holding, and where, so we don't end up flying into the bombing runs of the bombers would be nice. Isolating our potential approach vectors, and the windows in which we can conduct those attacks, would go a long way to ensuring Bravo and Alpha only have to handle their assigned forces and no Q-R-F."

"You don't have to worry about us getting spoked by SAMs, Cutlass. Unlike you we actually have a pair." It wasn't Cain, but a voice from the back, given the context of the response, it was O'Reilly, Hammerhead's squadron lead.

"Knock it off." Cain's voice cut through the few rising chuckles from a few others, "Emplacements aren't much different than you encountered back in Sipli. It's also likely that by the time we get there they'll already have planes in the air, and Ortara airbase across the channel is in flight range of most Stovie aircraft. So in short the risk of SAMs affecting the bombing run is low. Chances of Hammerhead and Stork being intercepted is rather high, however. It's also why everyone else already has a form of top cover. As is standard procedure, the bombardier of the lead craft is going to be figuring out the proper bombing pattern en route, so you'll be informed when it's finalized."

Beiarusia wrote:“Will any of the units be operating as a diversion? It would be prudent to know beforehand.”

"Funny you should mention that." a pause as he pressed a few buttons on the console, "We're no longer the only ones in this war hiring mercenaries. the Estovakian Air Force, and a few private citizens are hiring bounty hunters and mercenaries." an image was brought up from what seemed to be a satellite image of an air base somewhere. A number of planes being taxied in and out, most of them notably not Estovakian standard. A few recognizable silhouettes could be seen, Berkuts, a duo of F-22s, what looked like an SR-71, a Falken, and an F-15 with a somewhat familiar paint scheme to Merlin among others. A pause as he let it soak in, "A number of them are in country to claim bounties on Emmerian pilots, and Emmerian aligned mercenaries, the highest of which is 1.6 million Osean Dollars. A small number of them were tracked to an airbase across the channel, meaning they're likely in combat range of Blackrock."

"So I guess in a really indirect way, Hitman is the bait today."

The man sighed as he straightened up, "I think that's everything. Everyone load up and get in the air, we're all wheels up at 0830."

1st Lt. Victoria "Abel" Cain
0917, December 13th 2015 // Khesed Island, Emmeria

Abel had only been to Blackrock a few times. It was a nice city from what she remembered, the aviation museum there was of particular interest to her, but chances are it was either looted or bombed by now.

Looking around her, the number of planes flying in formation was, quite frankly, obscene. This was it, a single Nimbus strike and the Emmerian Air Force would be no longer. Abel had confidence in their intelligence folks knowing they were out of range of those strikes, but given that she'd lived through three of them, there was always that haunting feeling. The flight over was mostly quiet, and as they approached to close to an hour of flight time, the silence was broken by Ghost Eye.

AWACS Ghost Eye: <<Colonel Cain, Ghost Eye, please switch to command frequency four.>>

That immediately got people's attention. Something like that didn't just happen out of the blue. Something had happened. The small conversations ongoing at that point stopped dead as the remains of the Emmerian Air Force held their breath. After a good three or four minutes, Cain spoke up.

Tombstone: <<Toredo Ordinance Factory is under attack. Griffin, Hitman and Snake Pit squadrons, divert to bearing 323 degrees and make full burn, coordinates are 53.08, -132.35. Upon arrival you'll be contacted by callsign Anvil and given an update on the situation. We lose that factory and we lose our arms. For the rest of you, operational parameters haven't changed, we are still a go for Operation Whiplash.>>

~~MISSION 03.0: OPERATION WHIPLASH~~
MISSION 03.5: OPERATION GARM

Abel couldn't help but let out a silent "Fuck." to herself. That being said, the flight to Toredo was notably shorter, less than 20 minutes. As she formed up with Snake Pit, she switched to the second AWACS frequency.

AWACS Snake Pit: <<This is Airborne Early Warning and Control Systems Snake Pit to a new batch of friends. Weather tracking radar either has a flock of geese nesting in it, or Toredo Valley is undergoing one of it's many seasonal blizzards. Hope you folks brought block heaters.>>

Abel felt like quipping something about growing up in a frozen hellscape, but realized that a good chunk of Emmeria was actual desert. The joke then died in her mind.

AWACS Snake Pit: <<We'll be climbing to observation height, but don't get scared little ducklings, we'll be watching you and providing datalink when we can, you're gonna need it. Oh! Speaking of, I'm patching in Callsign Anvil now.>>

The sound of heavily muffled gunfire could be heard next, followed by some yelling, and most certainly wind. A much clearer voice cut over the radio:

Anvil: <<This is Anvil to all concerned aircraft. I'm currently holed up in greater Toredo with elements of the 2nd Marines. As of current, Estovakian infantry, armoured, and aerial elements are trying their hardest to uproot us and snuff us out. Visibility is less than 200 meters and we're currently relying on our vehicle's thermal optics and backtracing for spotting and targeting, but the Stovies are having the same issues. As it stands we have two major points of operation in Toredo valley. The storage annex and the munitions factory itself a kilometer down the valley from the former. We'll designate them Alpha and Bravo respectively. I got about a dozen JTACs doing their best with what they have but you're gonna have to do the same thing we're doing, thermals and backtracing. Lieuten- Incoming!>>

The sound of an explosion followed by frantic yelling, and what sounded like pained screaming came through the radio, it would cut out as Abel began to try and look for something below.

Less than thirty seconds later another voice cut in. Gruff, older, and with a tone that cut through the radio waves with an undeniable tone of authority.

Swan Song: <<This is Lieutenant General Harris, I'm embedded with the Marines here. I'll be coordinating from here on, radioman's dead. I certainly hope you're reliable in this situation because we're neck deep in it down here. I'm having runners go out and set up road flares within throwing distance of our lines, and Buttress, the ground element at the factory itself is doing the same. You should be able to see them through the blizzard now.>>

As Abel looked down, she could see red dots beneath the layer of cloud and fog.

Swan Song: <<Everything that moves outside of those zones that isn't jacked directly in to datalink is considered hostile, and is to be fucking killed with utmost prejudice. I can hear jet engines periodically flying by that sure as fuck aren't you, so there's likely some blind Stovies flying through the blizzard as well. I can't tell you what they are because none of them are getting even remotely close. Best of luck to you all, try not to stovepipe into the ground. Bellic I need a rifle and a designator! I'll give updates when needed, Swan Song, out.>>

A pause on the air waves.

Wiseass: <<Well, you heard him ramblers, let's get rambling.>>

by **Kassaran** » Thu Jul 22, 2021 5:54 pm

Capt. Romolo 'Sciabola' Beninati, Eagle One
13 December, 2015 // Toredo Valley, Emmeria

The flight had been diverted, unexpectedly, but still within the parameters of the mission, to an urgent CAS request coming out of Toredo. He'd never really been, none of the local areas had any notable museums, though he'd seen plenty of art come from those inspired by its sights. The sight of the massive blizzard that had encompassed the AO had not given him any sense of relief, and upon hearing the situation on the ground, he began vectoring immediately. He'd had his ass chewed out enough as it was already, his flight was ready for the roles and with any luck, he could get to engaging soon enough. In the backseat, Paffuto was already calling out commands, informing what was visible and the display in the cockpit showed the glowing pinpricks of red light outside of the factory and the annex.

Sciabola: <<Griffin One, Eagle One. Request permission to break and push Bravo. Eagle Flight, punch bags and fence in weapons.>>

The Phantom pilot was already beginning to peel away as he heard the communications come alive again.

Drifter: <<Eagle One, Griffin One. Verify with IR, and blast away once verified. Don't make us both look bad again.>>

Sciabola gave a scoff, he'd not intended to do so the previous time and he sure as hell wouldn't this time. He'd read up on the newer systems, the new doctrine brought in. He'd not read up on it before, his own failing as a commander he'd be the first to admit. Enough had changed in the three years since he'd been in, he should have at least checked before, but he wouldn't be caught with his jumpsuit around his ankles again.

Sciabola: <<Griffin One, Eagle One. Roger that. Pushing.>>

"Paffuto, do we have tally?"

There was a moment's pause as the Phantom continued to maneuver before the response returned.

"Negative. Looks like enemy armor pushing the factory is heavily obscured. I've got visual though. Buttress is dug in like ticks. Patching in their JTACs."

Sciabola waited a moment, before keying his radio, letting Paffuto start prepping the JDAMs on their racks as he continued to bring the bird in closer. Below, the valley fellw away into the blizzard that had hidden it from the world putting himself a couple kilometers outside the clouds to give him time to vector onto target.

Sciabola: <<Buttress, Eagle One. Two ship, Phantom-Echos, nine klicks south of Bravo, five klicks high. Six times GBU-tree-two, one-two times GBU-tree-eight, gun green. Playtime is tree-zed mikes.>>

Buttress: <<Eagle One, Buttress. Read you Lima Charlie. Standby for Nine-Line.>>

Sciabola nodded as he began to push the aircraft into a shallow turn, still over seven kilometers away. Giving a quick response, he waited, letting Paffuto continue running up the weapons as he caught sight of Rondine's Phantom a kilometer or so behind his in the turn. They'd be likely pushing in one after the other. They'd need to be cooperating at maximum efficiency and for that he'd need to be carrying out some level of joint communication. Rondine would have to go in a minute after to give the right spacing between bombing runs.

"Paffuto, cover the nine-line. I'll get the rest of the flight stacked."

There was a quick acknowledgement and click as the backseater began running through the targeting information and getting everything needed while Sciabola tapped back into the comms.

Sciabola: <<Eagle Two and Three, This is Eagle One. Form up and hold for next nine line. Rondine, check-in with Buttress once we begin ours and hold at storm's edge. Eagle Four, form up on me, we're going in. Make sure your Pherret's good and ready. Eagle One, in.>>

Buttress: <<Eagle One, Buttress. Cleared hot.>>

As he spoke, he could hear Paffuto talking in his ear, the information for the bombing run set up by the JTAC giving him guidance cues as he slowly turned back towards the AO. Pushing the target as he was quickly enveloped in the heavy clouds of the valley. In front of him, the muted white of the storm seemed to block out all light save as he dove deeper and deeper into the fray. The crackling and thundering of the battlefield slowly becoming audible as he entered four kilometers of Bravo, his altitude roughly two and a half kilometers off the deck. There'd been no signs of AAA, but he didn't want to risk death-by-MANPAD. Not now, and as they passed two kilometers, he could see through the weapons screen that Paffuto had already managed to put the coordinates in for their targets with the first two bombs of their ordnance. Within moments, the bombing computer indicated they had reached the release point.

Paffuto: <<Pickle times two. Egressing Southeast.>>

Buttress: <<Eagle One, Buttress. Good effect, standby for BDA- one time tank, T-72, destroyed. Two time APC, BMP-3, destroyed.>>

Pulling hard and away from the battlefield, he heard only the screaming of his own jet's engines as he pushed back into the clouds. Below, the 1,000 pound JDAMs sailed through the air, the GPS guidance package following through as the first bomb erupted in a fountain of dirt and metal, destroying a T-72 outright while the second slammed into the center of a closer-packed group of the APCs that had accompanied them. The BMP-3 the thousand-pound bomb had struck, disappeared in a flash and ripped open another nearby APC, flipping it over in a tumbling, smoking wreck. By that time, Sciabola had already pulled hard, high and away, he briefly felt the rumble of another jet pass nearby, but in the dense blizzard there was nothing that showed on his sensors.

Paffuto: <<Eagle One, extending out of the storm. Wings are already freezing up. Eagle Two looks to be in their run now.>>

2Lt Marco 'Rondine' Petraglia, Eagle Two
13 December, 2015 // Toredo Valley, Emmeria

Watching as the Sciabola's Phantom disappeared into the wall of clouds ahead, Rondine pulled around, listening as Tasso began to check in for Three and Two. It didn't take long as the Phantom skirted the edge of the large blizzard, threatening to begin forcing the jet to slow down as the cold gripped at the wings. The precautions had been enough to warrant this much of a close hold to the AO, but as Tasso gave the green light, Rondine's focus sharpened and his awareness heightened.

Buttress: <<Eagle Two, Buttress. Cleared hot!>>

Rondine: <<Eagle Two, in.>>

The Phantom rolled in hot, the bombing computer already beginning its computations as he nosed the aircraft down into the heart of the storm and towards the deck, watching the altimeter along with the rest of his instruments count off the meters as he descended. Outside, the howling of the twin J-79's were lost as he pushed past the sound barrier, watching as the indicators on the datalink for Buttress slipped into view, and then as quickly disappeared from the HUD.

Tasso: <<Eagle Two, Pickle times two.>>

In the frozen hell the Emmerian and Stovie forces found themselves fighting within, two more JDAM's rained from the sky, one slamming into the earth between a pair of T-72's, while the second buried into the open earth between APC formations. Debris and heat rippled out from each bomb, tearing the top off of one of the T-72's in a spectacular blast and throwing the tracks of the second, rocking it roughly up on one side, before the heavy tank slammed back down, immobilized and significantly damaged. The APC's however, were not so lucky as the second T-72. The thousand-pound JDAM detonated and shrapnel travelling far and wide across the roughly forty-meter kill zone, two promptly halting in their movement towards the now carved out crater, shaken, but not visually affected while a third that had passed it by spewed flames from within itself, flaming figures fleeing out the back of the destroyed BMP.

Buttress: <<Eagle Two, Buttress. Good effect on target! Stand-by for repo- break! One times T-72 destroyed! One times T-72 damaged! We got dismounts- looks like one times BMP-3 destroyed. Confirm, one times BMP-3 destroyed, two times BMP-2 behind it have stopped, but look operational!>>

Giving a slight disappointed cluck of his tongue, Rondine continued his egress, keying on the mic momentarily as he followed the path Sciabola had taken only a minute beforehand. Suddenly his cockpit filled with a sharp, angular shape which rattled the entirety of the aircraft roughly before it just as quickly disappeared in the snow.

Rondine: <<Eagle Two, egressing southea- break! bre- fuck! Fitters in the AO. I say again, Fitters in the AO. Near-miss with my nose on it. Watch your egress paths folks!>>

Turning the radar in the nose of the Phantom to it's most narrow, high-penetration band, he watched as a radar signature flitted past his nose again, pushing for Bravo. Peeling hard, Rondine braced against the forces of gravity and physics as the Phantom strained under the load. Ice began to form along the wings as his airspeed dropped and his engines shrieked in the fury of the blizzard. The sluggish controls threatening to drop the Phantom out of the sky, Rondine watched the altimeter slowly begin to tick back down as he began to slot in on the tail of the Fitter that had passed him. The radar cut through and in the narrow circle ahead, Tasso caught all he needed for a weapons lock.

Tasso: <<Eagle Two, Fox One!>>

Struggling against the weight of the aircraft, now shuddering and vibrating as its control surfaces began to lag under the strain of the ice buildup, the missile flew out and into the snowy drifts, seconds later detonating as the proximity fuse expelled the continuous rod charge into and through the Fitter's engine. Sheared in half from the blast, the front end carried on for a moment, before careening forward, the canopy flying off as the pilot ejected and Rondine pulled hard up and towards Bravo. A tense moment passed as his altimeter warning system screamed at him, his nose slowly climbing above the horizon as his afterburners poured on fuel. Out of the corner of his eyes, he could see the shapes of the factory beneath him passing below, he'd dropped almost stupidly low in his chase and feeling the acceleration of his Phantom begin to free up his controls, he scanned the airspace ardently watching for any sign of the other enemy aircraft.

Rondine: <<Eagle Two, splash one fitter. Not sure how many are out here, watch your altitude, these guys are flying low and fast.>>

by **Dayganistan** » Thu Jul 22, 2021 6:54 pm

1st Lt. Takhmina "Voron" Abduloeva
December 13th, 2015 // Toredo Valley, Emmeria
The mission had been completely changed. What was supposed to be a mission to support ground forces in the largest city on Khessed Island had been turned into a mission to repel an Estovakian attack on the last remaining Emmerian munitions factory. The change in mission parameters was no issue for Takhmina, she had outfitted her aircraft for ground strike. However, she wasn't expecting to fly into a blizzard. The Yuktobanian pilot was certainly no stranger to such conditions and had fought in them before. However, it was far from ideal. She had brought guided air to surface weapons, but with their reliance on infrared and laser guidance, the weather meant they would perform at a suboptimal level.

Swan Song: <<This is Lieutenant General Harris, I'm embedded with the Marines here. I'll be coordinating from here on, radioman's dead. I certainly hope you're reliable in this situation because we're neck deep in it down here. I'm having runners go out and set up road flares within throwing distance of our lines, and Buttress, the ground element at the factory itself is doing the same. You should be able to see them through the blizzard now.>>

The general's authoritative voice crackled through her radio. The Emmerians were facing an officer shortage, Takhmina found it oddly comforting to hear the voice of one who sounded like he still knew what he was doing. When the general finished his transmissions, she could see the red flares outlining friendly positions. With comma momentarily clear, she keyed her own radio.

Voron: <<Enforcer 1 to all Enforcer callisgns. Support ground forces at the storage annex. Don't let the Lieutenant General suffer the same consequences as Quox's battalion commander.>>

She turned her aircraft towards the storage annex, awaiting calls for fire from ground troops. There was no way she was going to dive blindly into the blizzard., especially if her navigation radar would be having just as much difficulty seeing through the snow as her eyes. However, she still attempted to scan for targets of opportunity. A red tracer streaking towards the friendly positions at the annex below the snow and clouds caught her eye, it's speed and lack of follow up tracers indicating a tank firing a high explosive or HEAT shell from its main gun. She pushed into a slow, shallow dive towards where she saw the tracer come from, slightly to the northwest of the storage annex. She could faintly see a fireball near the friendly position where the shell impacted, the snow playing havoc with the tank's laser rangerfinder and giving the gunner a bad range to target.

Voron: <<Enforcer 1 to Swan Song. Have possible visual on what just fired a shell at you. Moving to engage.>>

As she dived, she could see another tracer, this one much brighter as less cloud cover and snow was obscuring it. At least two Estovakian tanks were trying to line up shots on the friendly positions. There would likely be a third as well if their tank platoons were organized like Yuktobanian tank platoons. When her altimeter read 1500 meters, she pressed her weapons release button and immediately pulled up, her plane now over 500 kilograms lighter as a cluster bomb dropped from its hard point.

Voron: <<Pickle.>>

As she pulled up, she noticed a shape flying towards her at a slightly higher altitude. Even in this weather, it was a shape she would recognize anywhere. An Su-25, known to Yuktobanian forces as the "Grach," or as the Frogfoot to her new allies. The flares popped to signal friendly positions had likely attracted the attention of some Estovakian aircraft as well and it seem to Takhmina this Grach had oriented towards these flares. With the poor visibility, it was absolutely at a close enough range for her to do something about. She couldn't afford not to, not if she wanted to keep the friendly troops at the storage annex alive. With her Fitter lacking a radar gun sight she would have to manually aim. She estimated her lead to the best of her ability and pulled the trigger.

Voron: <<Guns.>>

A burst of twenty 30mm cannon rounds flew from the nose of her Fitter. Only a fraction of the shells hit their mark, but it was enough to knock out the Grach's right engine, causing it to trail smoke and rapidly lose altitude. She leveled her aircraft off and circled around to confirm. She could see a trail of smoke leading to a barely visible fire on the ground, and a parachuting Estovakian pilot also barely visible.

Voron: <<Enforcer 1, scratch one Grach... err... Frogfoot, sorry.>>

Meanwhile, the cluster bomb had seperated into its 15 SPBE-D submunitions. These were infrared guided submunitions, meant to track heat signatures and fire an explosively formed penetrator though the thin upper armour of armoured vehicles and MBTs. Between their inability to communicate and track separate targets, the low altitude release, and the weather conditions interfering with infrared guidance, the submunitions tracked two of the three T-72s in the Estovakian tank platoon Takhmina had engaged. The explosively formed penetrators of the submunitions that managed to track did their jobs, piercing the roof armour of the T-72s to perforate crewmen and detonate the ammunition in the poorly positioned autoloader. As Takhmina circled back , she would spot two fires and smoke columns near where she had dropped the bombs.

Voron: <<Two armoured vehicles destroyed, returning to await further tasking.>>

She pulled up, gaining altitude with her Fitter to get out of the worst of the storm.

by **Ubaria** » Thu Jul 22, 2021 7:52 pm

“All civilians and non-essential civil workers are to evacuate the city limits immediately via the marked evacuation routes. Please leave all personal belongings behind. Do not use radio or telecommunication devices. If you require assistance, report to the local police depot or nearest aid point. This message shall repeat.”

The haunting shrill of a nearby alarm bellowed out once again, creating with it the perceptical sensation of dread. Eighty thousand people had now begun vacating their homes and were billowing out onto the streets of Vale, a breadbasket town that had hardly been designed for such a mass exodus in mind, the Vale Police Department, along with the military were attempting to organize the panicked fleeing residents to little effect.

Dana peered cautiously from her bedroom window at the ensuing chaos in the city streets beneath. Vehicles trapped nose to tail in the street were blaring horns in vain attempts to get the clogged stream of traffic moving again whilst people on foot flowed between, many of them clutching suitcases, rucksacks and even loved ones in an attempt to break through the gridlock.

“Gran. Where are they going?”

Hanna moved over to the window and rolled down the rattan blinds. Picking her grandchild up, she moved quickly into the dining room where the table had been dragged into the corner of the room, upon it were piled blankets and bedsheets and underneath a nest of pillows and duvets had been created, along with many of Dana’s toys including an antiquated model biplane and several stuffed animals.

“Don’t worry about them my sweet. We’ll stay here.” A gaunt look of trepidation passed over Hanna’s usually softened features. A ragged sigh escaped her lips before she placed Dana down by the table, turning to retrieve a book on the kitchen counter.

“Where’s mama and papa?” Dana innocently inquired, shuffling into the softened crawlspace, blissfully unaware of what was occurring.

“They’re both at work. They’ll be back soon, don’t you worry about them right now.”

Satisfied with the answer, Dana plucked the book from her grandmother’s hands. It was one of her favourites. A local folktale about knights, kings and princes that had been adapted into a child’s picture book, something she had read countless times before but her attention was easily captured by it’s colourful and descriptive illustrations. With one of her stuffed animals tucked underarm, she parted the book to somewhere in the middle and began to trace her fingers around the words, mouthing them as she went.

“Ahh … ahlong...ca...ame….the ke...kern….”

“Knight. Remember, those letters i taught you?”

“Knight riiding on his … sil...slith...silvery steed”

Inside the makeshift den, the world outside was muffled some, though the siren still blared it’s tone through, enough to rattle the bones of anyone old enough to know what it signified.

“What’s that alarm for granny?”

“Nothing to be worried about. Look, you keep reading dear. I need to speak to your grandfather.”

She sat up, using a nearby chair as leverage and sauntered out of the room, out of sight. Dana, inquisitive as to what was going on, set down her doll and book and on her hands and knees, crawled to the doorframe and peered around to eavesdrop on the conversation.

“Greta’s safe. They’ve moved her command post up to Tsirin. They won’t get that far.” Gregori spoke softly, peering through the slats in the blinds. “Besides, they’re going after the canal.”

“How do you know?”

“It makes sense. They want to force us into a surrender. They can’t face us all head on so they’re going to cripple our infrastructure. When people begin to starve, they’ll demand we surrender.”

“David’s going to be up there.”

“I know. Greta mentioned that. They’re throwing everything we have at them here. Don’t worry, he’ll pull through.”

“I hope so, or we’ll …. Wait. Do you hear that?”

Both paused, trying to tune their ears over the clamour of the crowd and commotion outside. It began as a low, barely audible rumble, like distant thunder rolling through the air, though it grew in feverance and volume until it sounded almost ontop of them. The windows rattled in their frames, ornaments seemed to gain life and rattled around. Dana darted into the room with her grandparents and clutched onto her grandfather’s leg, yelling to make the noise stop.

“Dana. Get back under the table .. you”

An auditory thud sounded in the distance, followed by several more. The crowd outside had gone almost silent for a moment but then as the booms sounded off the shouting had become more frantic than before. People attempted to clear the streets by getting into any cover they could, that included buildings. The front door now vibrated with the sound of dozens of hands trying to claw their way in, desperately pleading for their lives.

Gregori wasted no time in picking Dana up and returned her to the den under the table. Now sobbing, Dana couldn’t make out what her grandparents were saying over the noise, nor would she be able to.

The buildings windows all blew inwardly simultaneously, a tornado of glass and wood splinters whipped through the rooms and tore shreds into the furniture and walls, Dana only narrowly avoiding injury due to the makeshift bunker she was in, though her grandparents were not so lucky and were injured by the flying shrapnel.

“Dana! Stay down, don’t … “

Another explosion, this one perhaps on their block. The building shook violently as cupboards fell down, lighting fixtures fell from their mounts and plaster rained down from the ceiling like snow. Dana clasped her hands over her ears to block out the noise, hunching herself into a ball in her grandfather’s protective arms. Many of the screams from outside had faded, though could still be heard among the alarms and explosions, gunfire now adding itself to the mix as nearby anti-aircraft guns opened fire.

“Close your eyes! Don’t be scared.”

Dana peeled one of her eyes open. A horrific scene beset her. Hanna was bloodied in a corner of the room, hunched under a mattress and her grandfather was infront of her, glass embedded in his pale skin, several trickles of blood ran down his face, soaking his white beard and green sweatshirt.

“It’s okay... it’s going to be okay”.

A white flash. An intense heat. Then nothing.

---

Dana jolted forward. Her scream fading as reality took it’s hold. Cold sweat soaked her skin, clothes and bedsheets, her exasperated breathing soon turned to a meek sob. She hadn’t had that nightmare in so long. She was a fool to think she could be free of it.

A few doleful minutes passed as Dana attempted to control her emotions, though simply running out of energy sufficed enough and she found herself sitting cross legged on the floor, staring at the blank drywall.

‘What’s the time?’

She leaned over and checked her alarm clock. 5am. Briefing was in an hour. Slowly she trapsed towards the bathroom to wash her aching body.

---

"Any questions?"

Dana remained quiet, taking a position towards the back of the room. She didn't really feel like taking the lash of Victoria's tounge today and after the performance over Sipli, she remained rather incognito. Oil pressure had forced her out of the fight once again, after her first attack run the strain of combat must have loosened a pump and before she knew it, Dana had to limp the Draken back to home turf or find herself without an aircraft. Luckily, the mechanics had repaired the pump using parts from similar aircraft, several pre-flight checks had now determined that hopefully, the plane was in combat shape. As for the pilot, that remained to be seen.

by **Kyraina** » Thu Jul 22, 2021 9:19 pm

1st Lt. Tyler "Razorback" Bradford, Sicario 1
December 13th, 2015 // Toredo Valley, Emmeria, Alpha Zone

The Crew of Sicario 1 was wearing artic weather gear, forgoing their usually flight suits, for one the cold would have cut right through them in the unpressurized hull of the AC-119K Gunship, and two the heater for the crew on the AC-119K was no the best when you had open holes for weapons to stick through, and same for the optics. This wasn't the first time the Osean Air Crew had been in this cold of weather and sure wasn't the first they had and did CAS in absolutely horrible weather, but this was the first time they had done both, and for Knight this was only his second mission in a gunship period, but he found that he enjoyed the freedom of being able to move around on a long flight, which was a plus with his age. He wasn't the young like the rest of the Lads and Lassies that made up the rest of the flight crew. We was surprised they took the change of target with out a lot of complaint, other then well the Weather. The crew listened to the on station briefing.

Razorback: "We are going to Alpha."

Belle: "You can't be serious Capt."

Razorback: "I'm Serious. We have such a large wing surface we can do this, plus i got the wing and tank heaters on. Plus you got the De-Icer that was applied to Our wings before take off."

Doc: "I don't like this Skipper."

Hud: "You don't have to like. He is making the call. We just make it happen."

Knight: "Well Let's not keep the Gen. Harris waiting. We might as well do FAC for whoever is in Alpha."

Razorback looked over at Knight and Nodded. Sharps flipped the ECM pods on and started to gather Intel on Stovie intel before he started to Jam any radar signals he picked up in the area.

Reverend: "I got Enforcer and Lion moving into Zone Alpha."

Knight: <<Sicario 2, Sicario 1. We are moving to Alpha to perform CAS and FAC. We suggest you to go Bravo to do the same. Break All Enforcer and Lion Callsigns. This is Sicario 1. We are Moving into the area to provide CAS and FAC. Try to avoid us, Our Two Jet engines and Prop engines should make for a interesting IR Sig. Also keep those enemy fighters off of us. If we see a target we mark it by a flare. That should attract your attention to its general area. Good Hunting, Sicario 1 out.>>

The stinger entered the Blizzard, all regular visual so Razorback looked at the screen showing the view from the the FLIR installed in the Stinger, and soon they spotted the first of many flares to mark the position of the friendly ground forces. Knight looked at his instruments, and felt the air craft shake as a Frogfoot flew by just in front of them, the wingtip just inches from the Cockpit windows.

Razorback: "Fuck what was that?"

Knight: "Fucking frogfoots. Let me worry about them. You get us on target."

The younger man nodded and went back to looking at the FLIR screen.

He saw as tracers came screaming through the screen. He adjusted the flight of Stinger to back track the tracers with the flir and spotted two BMP-3s, and they were right next to each other two for some reason, but their job wasn't to wonder.

Razorback: "Alright everyone, got two Bump 2s. Entering pylon turn. Let's rock and roll people."

Razorback started the pylon turn, and used the muzzle flash of the cannons on one of the BMP-3s to get target. He pressed the trigger, and all through alpha ground forces but friendly and opfor heard the loud ripping noise of a gunship letting loose with her fury.

The 7.62 SLAP and 20MM APDS slammed into the first of two Bumps for a brief second and the gun on the Cannon went strangely quiet on the BMP-2, and didn't fire again as the engine caught fire and then detonated. The second BMP-3 tried to back up, but it was already to late when the guns on the Stinger sang once again. This time the BMP-2 kept going back and didn't stop as it slammed into a third Bump behind it. In the second BMP the crew were shredded meat from the 20mm APDS coming through the top of the hull, and the third BMP was tracked and immobile, but still capable of firing, but then the second BMP blew up from a engine fire caused by the collision, and it took the third BMP with it.

Knight: <<3 BMP-2s down, Readjusting target.>>

Razorback adjusted flight path and crossed over a trio of t-80Ms

Razorback: "Hud, launch Flare now.

Knight: <<Enforcer Callsigns, Lion Callsigns. Sicario 1. We just marked a trio of T-80s with a flare. Sicario 1 out.>>

They spotted two infantry platoons not to far from each other and had entered another Pylon Turn. Razorback sighted and pulled the trigger, about that time a frogfoot, flew by right into the fire from the Stinger. The cannon and minigun fire slammed into the frogfoot, the sabot rounds ripping it apart, and a explosion rocked the AC-119.

Knight: <<Sicario 1. Guns, Guns, Guns? We think we just blasted a frogfoot out of the sky.>>

Razorback went to go turn his attention back to the infantry platoons when the RWR started going off. Razorback instantly broke contact and went into evasive maneuvers and went to climb out of the storm.

Sharps: "Looks like Fishbed Radar trying to get a lock on, but I go them jammed. they might try closing to use guns, or try to shoot off a missile and hope they get lucky."

As they emerged from the storm a flight of MiG-21s flew by and circled around. Razorback instantly dove back into the storm as cannon rounds raked at the Stinger. A game of cat and mouse had started in the blizzard and the Stinger was quickly losing ground to the MiGs. It was only because of the weather they was still up in the Air.

Knight: <<Enforcer flight, Lion Flight. We have a couple of MiGs on our ass can't shake them. Y'all better be quick and help.>>

Capt. Spyro "Drifter" Beretta, Griffin One/Lion One.
December 13th, 2015 // Toredo Valley, Emmeria, Alpha Zone

"Does it belong to your family, Drifter?"

"Luckily, No, No it doesn't. Thanks for Asking Gorgon. It belongs to one of our rivals. Still you don't want to lose a Rival just because their factory got destroyed or captured."

"It was like that in training. You didn't want to lose a Rival cause they got hurt, but it happens."

"More then you know."

You ever flown in a blizzard before Drifter?"

"Only in a C-130, and There was Skis attached to the wheels."

"Fuck Me. They really did put me with a Trash Hauler."

"Hey you wanted back on flying status."

Drifter saw the stone cold glare in his review mirror and he smiled behind his mask.

"Okay, well Gorgon. Let's go join the party."

Gorgon: <<Lion Flight, Lion 1. We are going to engage Alpha. Those with Just Air to Air keep overwatch. Those with AtG or Mixed, Thin out the Stovies."

Drifter turned the FA-50 towards Alpha Zone and entered the blizzard. He kept his eyes on his instruments and his radar screen.

"Come on Gorgon, get me a target. We don't need a repeat of what happened to Qoux in the last op."

A giant flash shown of the left of the FA-50 for a second before Gorgon confirmed what Drifter thought.

"I got arty on radar. Off to our left." She then gave a heading. Drifter climbed and headed towards the Arty.

"Okay Drifter. I got them on the Sniper Pod. Selecting the CBU-105. I got a Lock. Prem......"

"Gorgon Permission granted for the mission. Just let me know what it is. You handle to AtG, and I'll handle AtA. I'm not gonna ask you to do both in this soup."

Drifter climbed and Gorgon fired off the CBU-105.

Gorgon: <<Lion 1 Pickle, Pickle.>>

The Smart Cluster munitions separated from the FA-50 and flew towards there target. It eventually separated into 20 different little disk, and everyone of them converged on a arty piece. two to a target sometimes 4 since they couldn't tell that arty piece was already targeted by a different disk. All the Arty exploded in what would have been awesome fashion if anyone could have seen.

"Good Kill on Arty Gorgon. Now find us something else."

Drifter had the FA-50 Climb out of the blizzard and took a quick look around before diving back into the storm.

Gorgon: <<Artillery has been dealt with>>

by **Beiarusia** » Fri Jul 23, 2021 6:28 pm

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

Assassin was now entering the airspace overhead the picturesque valley alongside Snake Pit and the other diverted aircraft. True enough a snowstorm blanketed the valley, and visibility was indeed limited by a substantial margin. Poor weather was not uncommon back home in Usea, but never had Marceline flown in whiteout conditions, or at least in conditions as miserable as this, but the Su-34 handled the less-than-stellar weather exceptionally well (having been designed to do so) despite the unexpected and harsh circumstances. Marceline, too, would be amiss if she failed to admit her own growing excitement. War or not, she enjoyed the challenge, and would enjoy overcoming it even more.

Snake Pit had linked their comms to groundside elements currently holding the munitions factory. The marines were in a bad situation but had at the very least done their best to assist the incoming CAS. Flares had been deployed to mark their positions (everything past that was to be considered hostile) and JTAC would mark targets to the best of their abilities. All in all, a reasonable operation despite the weather.

Assassin and Eagle were moving to cover Bravo Sector. The flight of Phantoms rushed ahead; the mercenaries were circling around to hit from another angle. Marceline was in no rush to be the first into the engagement so had no issue allowing the Emmerians to draw the attention of the enemy fighters. Soon thereafter Merlin and Rattler broke off to engage hostile aircraft.

Mooncalf: << This is Assassin 2-1. Moving low to slip in unnoticed. ECM is active if anyone wishes to follow. >>

“Sudden diversion away from the main objective, and we’re the ones leading the charge. Cain has something against us,” Ben noted over the aircraft’s intercom as he flipped the switch for their ECM to start blaring noise of the electromagnetic spectrum.

Marceline simply shrugged at the comment. Maybe the Colonel did have something against them, but the diversion wasn’t something they couldn’t handle. If anything she enjoyed the thought of overcoming the obstacles if only to prove herself capable.

The young pilot wished to avoid most (if not all) of the enemy fighters, so planned to fly low, using her terrain radar to avoid any unseen obstacles with ECM masking her approach. In theory it was an acceptable course of action. The fighters were otherwise engaged with Eagle and the mercenaries who’d come looking to claim air superiority, so the black-and-grey Su-34 could reasonably go by unnoticed.

Radio chatter filled the cabin. Marines defending the factory were taking fire and requesting immediate assistance. Part of the transmission was lost in the clutter (and background noise) but the gist was clear.

Friendly Infantry: << … taking fire, east pavilion! Enemy armor is making a breakthrough! >>

“I can see them on the T-Pod, a lot of tracers so he’s not lying. Do they have designators?” Vigil turned to Mooncalf inquisitively.

Mooncalf: << This is Assassin 2-1 to East Pavilion. How copy? >>

Friendly Infantry: << We copy. This is Sergeant Bianchi requesting immediate support. >> His words were briefly overshadowed by a nearby explosion and the immediate sounds of machinegun fire. <<Enemy armor two-hundred meters! Count three tanks minimum supported by IFV’s! Romano, paint those bastards! >>

Ben gave a thumbs up, “I’ve got multiple target lasers. Calf, do you remember how to lob bombs?”

“I’ve done it once or twice,” she admitted matter-of-factly before keying the radio again.

Mooncalf: Lock acquired. Moving to engage at range. Hold… >>

Ben braced, “Alright, let’s see how this goes…”

With the marines feeding her targeting computer with the necessary information, Marceline moved to align her Sukhoi for the best possible angle of attack, a subtle adjustment that compensated somewhat for the wind. She pulled back, raising her pitch and hitting the release. Six laser-guided bombs dropped from the ejector-racks, momentum carrying the explosives up and high into an arc.

Mooncalf: << Paveway count six. ETA sixty-five seconds approximately. >>

Lob complete, Marceline rolled and pulled back, angling down and into a steep dive before twisting and leveling out at a much lower altitude. ECM was active, as was the terrain radar, so she made good her attempt to slip into the airspace unnoticed. Anyong wishing to follow would simply have to stick close to the Sukhoi as it used the whiteout conditions to its advantage. As the enemy fighters were engaged overhead the Su-34 (and any trailing aircraft) passed by underneath, following an indirect path several dozen meters above the treetops. Marceline kept up a good pace but refrained from increasing her speed to anything unreasonable. The terrain radar was helpful, but visibility was still incredibly poor.

They were nearing the munitions factory, an ominous silhouette that stood in stark contrast to the gentle hills of the valley. The flares that the marines had deployed formed an effective line that, even at altitude, was visible despite the weather conditions. Soon these pinpoints of light were joined, if only briefly, by another explosive flash as the bombs detonated, a puff of black smoke an afterimage that quickly was washed away by the snow.

Friendly Infantry: << Confirming multiple hits! >>

Ben keyed the intercom, watching the bombs sail in and impact on the platoon of tanks closing in on the Marines. “I’ve got four destroyed tanks, plus one popped BMP that was a little too close. Looking good.”

Marceline broke from the loose formation to increase altitude and soon passed overhead the east pavilion and the wreckage the bombs had created, the two engines leaving an awe-inspiring roar against the subtle roar of the snowstorm in their wake. She peered down as best she could to take stock of the situation but, again, visibility was less than nominal.

She returned focus to flying then asked her WSO, “Should we make another pass?”

Vigil turned to Calf, “Our one Kh-29 isn’t gonna use itself. Get us level and I’ll designate it.” He slewed the targeting pod onto the east pavillion and spotted a group of BMPs in the open that were in reserve behind their destroyed allies. Meanwhile he activated the missile’s pylon and warmed up it’s seeker.

Marceline nodded before maneuvering them into a wide and level arc, putting some distance between them and the munitions factory to allow Benjamin ample time to mark an appropriate target. At the apex of the sweeping curve she banked into a sharp hairpin, the canards cutting into the frigid air and bringing them back on-course with the east pavilion dead-ahead. She pulled back on the controls to gain some altitude for the best launch angle.

Vigil tapped Calf on the shoulder, “All we have is IFVs left down there. Let them know they’re good. Ask for more designations on other targets, otherwise we’re gonna waste this missile on something that can die from a LAW.” He explained, slewing the T-Pod for more juicier targets than the BMPs.

Mooncalf: << This is Assassin 2-1 to East Pavilion. Coming back around for another pass. Please prioritize targets. >>

Soon enough the IFVs were painted. Marceline readied the release as they approached, the thrum of their engines growing in intensity to those fighting down below. As if knowing another attack was imminent, several of the IFVs attempted to fall back, but caught out in the open there was little cover to be had. The crew of one simply ditched and took their chances on foot.

The Su-34 passed the pavilion, a dark shadow above, and seconds after the bombs detonated, trashing an additional three vehicles in the pass. Their momentum foiled, the Estovakians that could were falling back under the continued fire of the entrenched marines.

Friendly Infantry: << They’re falling back! >>

Friendly Infantry: << East Pavilion is secure. Good fucking job! >>

Ben looked over his shoulder at the impact area, he could almost see the destroyed hulls with the light of the fires alone. “Confirming the kills, that’ll show Cain,” Vigil gloated.

Marceline nodded as she pulled them up and away from the pavilion. She didn’t outwardly admit it, not being the sort to openly wear her emotions, but the idea of showing up the local pilots was stirring in a way considering the blooming-yet-unspoken rivalry that had sparked between the squadrons. The Erusean was out to prove herself and felt that this was a good start.

Mooncalf: << This is Assassin 2-1, pavilion cleared of hostile armor. Repositioning. >>

COMBAT LOG

by **Herador** » Fri Jul 23, 2021 6:28 pm

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

The three-plane strike element broke through the cloud cover, cutting a path towards the AO's Bravo sector. James was doing his best to follow Mooncalf and Vigil's Fullback and thanking whatever god was listening that they had decided to get Moon and Vigil the first plane. Hector had terrain radar, sure, but the Fullback was in a different league altogether, and with conditions as bad as they were, James was all to happy to let the modern plane take point as the pair were jostled by turbulence. Behind him, Neisha was talking to a JTAC on the ground, and whatever she was being told had her giddy.

Dirty: <<Assassin 5 copies all Buttress, keep targets lased, we're on target in one mike.>>

"Get ready James, we have three targets designated from the ground, should be on your screen."

Sure enough, the computer and Neisha had laid out a course.

Dirty: <<Moon, Vigil, Witness, we're breaking to hit some designated targets. Stay safe.>>

They were low, lower than advisable maybe, but in weather like this, you had to make due. "Get ready, drop them as we pass." He called back. "Can you do it?"

Neisha snorted a laugh, "Can I do this." Was her only mumbled reply.

Slowing Hector down as much as he dared and with wings out, James heaved the Tornado on course. "We're set Neesh, do ya thing."

As they flew over the factory Neisha called out each drop, and even though they were using the lightest bombs the pair could manage to get, Hector was so low that the blasts still lit up their cockpit.

Dirty: <<Copy Buttress, we'll come back around.>>

"All three were good hits." Neisha said with an audible grin. "Can you do it?" she mocked again with a laugh. "Bring us back around, we nailed out a platoon or something but there's a tank out there giving them trouble."

"Guide me on target Neesh, I want to use a dumb one, save the smart boys."

James guessed she shrugged, because a second later another blip appeared on his screen. Pulling Hector higher, he brought the Tornado around in a wide bank and on a steep angle. "Hold on." Pushing the stick forward, Hector began his dive. In James' short life so far, he felt confident that the headlong plunge into a white abyss, his only guides the altimiter and Neisha's blip, was the single most terrifying thing he had done so far.

"James Gorman, don't you dare turn me into a lawn dart!" Neisha whined from the back seat, only half kidding.

"We'll be fine." He shot back, more to himself than his WSO on reflection.

Dirty: <<Assassin 5, pickle!">>

Throwing the release and pulling back hard, James gunned it, only letting out his breath when he was sure that they weren't in danger of crashing.

"Buttress is reporting good effect on target, unknown if a complete kill or just damaged, but it's out of the fight." She paused. "Get us back up, JTAC is lining us up another run."

by **Shyluz** » Fri Jul 23, 2021 6:29 pm

2LT. Zéphyrine Roux "F.R.O.G." de Saint-Hadrien
13th December, 2015 // Somewhere over Khesed Island, Emmeria

Zéffie couldn’t see shit, but neither could the Stovies. On the surface, everything seemed relatively even. Except that that was entirely wrong and a foolish assumption to make--Assassin flights were some of the best in the business, whether the Emmerians wanted to admit it or not. It was a fly-by-instrumentation kind of job, up above Toredo, and while that might’ve been a downright tragedy for the Emmerians and the Stovies, F.R.O.G. grew up flying in blizzards.

Blizzard conditions are common in the Aurelian Alps, so common that eventually the air race community just, well, dealt with it. Sure, Aurelian air races have some of the highest mortality rates in the world, but sacrifices are made for every sport, and Aurelia had long ago adapted.

Zéphyrine’s Fishbed rattled, turbulence jarring her as she closed in on the radar contact ahead. The bandit--a Stovie Fishbed--broke hard left, trying to throw her off and she slammed to the side, bringing the gunsight over him and with a burp of green tracers, clipped the MiG from the sky. The Stovie plunged out of view, as F.R.O.G. sighed, and checked her radar.

It was like a buffet. All-you-can-eat, for the price of a drop tank and a couple dozen cannon shells. She grinned cruelly.

F.R.O.G.: << That’s a Fishbed down. >>

She banked, coming over a Fitter as he tried to burn away. He popped countermeasures, guessing that the MiG overhead was going for a heatseeker. Tragically, he was incorrect. F.R.O.G. pounced, unleashing another sharp shudder of twenty-millimeter shells and detaching a variable wing from the Fitter’s fuselage. Just as quick as she came, she was regaining altitude.

F.R.O.G.: << Guns on a Fitter. That’s two for me. >>

She hummed cheerily. She’d made ace today, with the prior Fishbed. Already, she’d made a good chunk of cash on the two kills, but there were just so many Stovies. Who could say no? They were flying like headless chickens, clearly unaccustomed to instrumentation flight and blizzard conditions. She locked up another Fishbed, and, being a Fishbed jock herself, she knew that when the tone went good and the Atoll flung off the rails, the Stovie was truly fucked. She dipped back into the blizzard, a distant thud and flash marking the destruction of the fighter.

F.R.O.G.: << Fox two, splash another Fishbed. >>

by **Hastur** » Fri Jul 23, 2021 6:31 pm

MISSION 03.5: OPERATION GARM
First Lieutenant Miriam “Rattler” Lochte
0917, December 13th 2015
Khesed Island, Emmeria

Blizzards were certainly one thing she didn’t miss, nor was flying in the thick of one. The air was fierce, and visibility was weak. Billowing winds rocking up the sinking sleet, forming a silver haze that was virtually impossible to see out of. The white out conditions would have commonly rendered most planes grounded, but given they were in a losing conflict, that made for a unique exemption. It made rattler jittery as she habitually bounced back and forth between the systems, dials, and her only guide, the radar. The ancient plane barely maintained itself together as it pierced through the eternal silver vale.

Their mission had changed. The flight was diverted away from the city of blackrock to the northwest, leading them into the frozen valley. The arms factory was under attack, something that threatened the war effort entirely if they didn’t intervene. Miriam just wished that the enemy had attacked it under more favourable circumstances for them. Changing frequency, the other AWACS met her.

AWACS Snake Pit: <<We’ll be climbing to observation height, but don’t get scared little ducklings, we’ll be watching you and providing datalink when we can, you’re gonna need it. Oh! Speaking of, I’m patching in Callsign Anvil now.>>

The note of battle rang over the communication channel. The popping of fire, screaming and explosions distant behind the man’s voice as he spoke, the battle hidden behind the vale.

Anvil: <<This is Anvil to all concerned aircraft. I’m currently holed up in greater Toredo with elements of the 2nd Marines. As of current, Estovakian infantry, armoured, and aerial elements are trying their hardest to uproot us and snuff us out. Visibility is less than 200 meters and we’re currently relying on our vehicle’s thermal optics and backtracing for spotting and targeting, but the Stovies are having the same issues. As it stands we have two major points of operation in Toredo valley. The storage annex and the munitions factory itself a kilometer down the valley from the former. We’ll designate them Alpha and Bravo respectively. I got about a dozen JTACs doing their best with what they have but you’re gonna have to do the same thing we’re doing, thermals and backtracing. Lieuten- Incoming!>>

A thundering roar cut his speech off, accompanied by shrieks of agony and turmoil. Something had hit them. Miriam tensed up, hand twisting into the stick, concerned for their safety occupying the forefront of her mind. It was a real nasty situation, and it was up to them to break them out. Soon enough, another voice, older, came broadcasting over the line.

Swan Song: <<This is Lieutenant General Harris, I’m embedded with the Marines here. I’ll be coordinating from here on, radioman’s dead. I certainly hope you’re reliable in this situation because we’re neck deep in it down here. I’m having runners go out and set up road flares within throwing distance of our lines, and Buttress, the ground element at the factory itself is doing the same. You should be able to see them through the blizzard now.>>

Miriam winced as the new, gruffer voice revealed his name and rank. The situation on the ground grew much worse again, the conditions being severe enough that a three-star general was taking over management of the position. The stakes suddenly tripled as a lot further pressure was imposed on them, the burden of the situation becoming much starker.

Swan Song: <<Everything that moves outside of those zones that isn’t jacked directly in to datalink is considered hostile, and is to be fucking killed with utmost prejudice. I can hear jet engines periodically flying by that sure as fuck aren’t you, so there’s likely some blind Stovies flying through the blizzard as well. I can’t tell you what they are because none of them are getting even remotely close. Best of luck to you all, try not to stovepipe into the ground. Bellic I need a rifle and a designator! I’ll give updates when needed, Swan Song, out.>>

With that, their orders had been given. Hold off the opposition outside of the factory and kill everything that menaced it. Rattler consulted her radar as the flight broke off to engage their targets. The strike aircraft moved in with help of the JTACs, leaving her and the others to provide top cover. She peered at the numerous dots to interpret where she was most required. Two specks drew her eyes, the pair moving aggressively in the compounds bearing at bravo in what read like an attack pass.

Merlin: << Rattler, on me, we’re going to intercept those frogfoots. >>

Rattler: << Copy, let's take them out before they can do any real damage. >>

Miriam began their descent alongside their wingman to meet the raiders, thrusting the burners to their limit as they hastened rapidly towards moving specks. Her eyes seldom scanned her front through the fog, unable to formulate any shapes as they closed in. It made it difficult to track targets for heat seeking missiles. Ultimately, however, two opaque grey blips contrasted against the silver, the pair breaking right towards the factory buildings. Well within their missile engagement range.

Rattler: << They’re getting close! Engaging now! >>

Miriam hissed as she began swaying herself in, attempting to double their movement and find the attack angle to push in, the turbulence battling against the plane. Miriam had flown in blizzard conditions before training exercises in the north of belka, but she’d faced nothing like this. She knew that keeping her speed up was essential, unable to afford to slow too much lest icing up became a legitimate hazard.

Merlin: << Fox two! >>

The second SU-25 began taking evasive manoeuvres, but the first remained on target. The tone of her plane's heatseeker yelped away, a rapid beep indicating that the lock was ready. She was within gun-range now however, and her sightlines aligned with a much clearer picture, an SU-25, mere seconds away from being on station and ready to start its attack on the factories.

Rattler: << Guns!>>

The plane jolted, green tracers cascading through the gloom. Bullets slammed into the SU-25, fracturing the right wing, the sharp gales trimming it off as it undertook an evasive maneuver. The plane whirled into the silvery mist, vanishing out of sight. The sole sign of its status being a brilliant but brief lived orange blossom below, withdrawing behind the facade of white just as it appeared. Survival unlikely for the pilots of the strike aircraft.

Rattler: << Splashed the bandit!>>

With the threats dealt with, a glimpse at her radar presented a troubling sight, four signatures forming a beeline for them. Their defence of the factory not passing unrecognized by their air superiority fighters obscured within the penumbra, the pair's own insurance from the fullback’s ECM now beyond their grasp. They were coming now. Fast.

Merlin: << Shit, alright, Rattler, we got bandits dropping down on us. You get them off my back and I’ll double back and cover yours. >>

Sure enough, two blips on the radar split off for Merlin, their figures barely visible within the haze.

Rattler : << Yeah copy I see them. Looks like two of them! Getting them off your back now!>>

Miriam began picking up the manoeuvres. Gliding her plane in behind the heap that was now pursuing her skipper. A series of soft glows danced ahead, making sharp and long turns as they commenced their waltz. The radar lock sounded off anew, her sights aligning with the closest ambiguous shape ahead, the mellow tinge of the burners signalling one of her captain’s pursuers. The heatseeker yelping turned to a continuous roar as she cleared the tracking lock, sapping the trigger as she felt a dull thunk.

Rattler : << Fox 2! Fox 2! Merlin bank hard right! >>

The medium range Matra R.530 missile shot forward into the fog, departing from view for just a note before the pleasant glow turned into a deep fiery bloom, a whirling blur emerging from it as it started its descent into the snow below.

Estovakian Su-17M3 Pilot: << they have hit me! Plane is coming apart! Bailing now! > >

The screaming young male voice reverberated over the headset, accompanied by a transitory spurt of static. Miriam hoped the man had punched it out in time, but even in the weather, the chance of rescue for him was slim.

Rattler: << Scratch one merlin! I’m on the next! >>

She sped up again, throwing everything into speed as she attempted to gain on the second pursuer. The gaggle of dancers had become a trio, their afterburners marking their movements.

Estovakian MiG-21SM Pilot: << Someone get this Mirage off my ass! >>

An accented voice bellowed over the radio, concern in his voice as he stuck to his target, tunnel vision taking over. The glare had turned sharper, the frame of the plane more visible as it sought to go evasive, helpless to elude the Mirage. She closed into gun range again, fearful of accidently painting her friend. The mirage's prey's call for help, however, had not gone unanswered. The sharp, light tone of the track popping up, alerting the pilot of the imminent danger they faced. Her eyes briefly went to the radar. Two contacts. They’d finally caught up.

Tilting her head back, spotting them emerging from the fog. Grey shapes struggled to keep pace as they danced, matching her movements as her sight crossed over the plane in front of her.

Estovakian Su-17M3 Pilot: << I got the mirage but you gotta egress now! >>

The tailing pilot’s concerned advice fell on deaf ears. The leading plane continued their pursuit.

Rattler: << Guns! >>

The shock hit again, tracers drifting forward into the tail of the engine as the MIG undertook a turn. Armour piercing explosive rounds clawing their way into the engine block. The turbine popped loose; the bird lost its principal cause of propulsion as it wobbled at tremendous velocity, joining an abrupt plunge. Shortly after that, the expression of the RWR went higher.

Estovakian Su-17M3 Pilot: << Fox 2! Fox 2! >>

Rattler : << I’m painted! Punching it!” >>

Rattler exclaimed, stress toiling its way in. Without counter measures, she’d have to pull out all the stops. She yanked the stick; the mirage spinning upside down before breaking in a sharp drop downward in the enemy’s direction, thrusting whatever momentum she had into fleeing the lock, the rigid feminine voice urging her of the altitude. Everything felt sluggish as gravity attacked, her understanding growing dusky as she strove to gasp through gritted teeth. The attempt to obscure the heat signature caused the missile to trash, shattering not far off. The fight was far from over, the two chasing planes beginning their dive. Miriam’s heart racing as red tracers zipped past from the second aircraft, scarcely missing their mark thanks to split second evasive manoeuvres.

Rattler << Merlin if you’re going to do something best do it now or I’m toast! >>

by **Tayner** » Fri Jul 23, 2021 7:51 pm

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

The situation had changed from what they were briefed on, that much was clear. It was a common theme in war, no plan survived first contact with the enemy, even if your plan wasn;t involved in the contact it might as well be changed. So, the jets of Hitman and Griffin sped off into a blizzard. Well, it's been a while since I've fought in the cold like this. Dan thought to himself, remembering a long forgotten battle over the South Atlantic. Let’s not have a repeat, huh?

Eventually they arrived, and got a briefing from the resident flag officer.

Merlin: << Alright, Hitman, you take Alpha, Assassin, we’re going to Bravo. Sicario, you have liberty to decide where you’d do best. Let’s get to it. >>

The plan was simple, and Griffin seemed to have their side down. Dan scanned his radar, trying to find contact while his plane dealt with the turbulence that was caused by the snow. Two contacts, signature matching that of a Su-25, were flying in low to make their run on the factory. The ground pounders had their job, and the fighters had theirs.

Merlin: << Rattler, on me, we’re going to intercept those frogfoots. >>

The F-5 dove, gaining speed and getting a good angle of attack as Dan armed a sidewinder. The Frogfoots were perceptive, and broke off their attack run, splitting up as they did. Dan called his target and made to pursue the frogfoot. He saw as objects already began to descend to stop them. Guess we’ll have to be quick about it, huh? Dan thought to himself as he pressed his assault.

Merlin: << Fox two! >>

The Frogfoot deployed flares, banking off and exposing it’s dorsal side, making a larger target as Dan lined up his shot and depressed the trigger in an instant.

Merlin: << Guns! >>

Tracers turned into explosions on the fuselage of the Frogfoot, and Dan pulled off as he watched the jet erupt into a fireball, the silhouette of a chute being visible through the blizzard. I don’t envy you, friend. Dan thought as he pulled up and went full burn. Some pilots would rather burn up in their cockpits before gambling on the slim chance that search and rescue would find them before the cold did them in. Some pilots.

Merlin: << Shit, alright, Rattler, we got bandits dropping down on us. You get them off my back and I’ll double back and cover yours. >>

Dan went evasive, burning as much as he could without loosing too much speed. The enemy couldn't hold a lock long enough to launch a missile, and Rattler, with her own tail, went to make short work of his pursuers. They had broken off of Dan, trying to evade Rattler. Dan killed his speed, to the absolute lowest he could go before icing up, toing the line with the weather. If Rattler or the Estovokain pursuers paid attention, they would see the silhouette of Dan's fighter as they buzzed past. Just as soon as he slowed down, he went full burn, getting on the tail of a Fishbed.

Merlin: << Guns. >>

The tracers tore into the rear of the fitters engines, and soon enough the fuel tank. There was no parachute as Dan passed by the debris.

Rattler : << I’m painted! Punching it!” >>

Dan was chasing the orange glow in front of him, and watched as a smaller thruster engaged, knowing what that meant. The Fitter, now aware of Dan's arrival, broke off Rattler. They pushed their craft harder, they had a speed edge, but all it did was make the target brighter for Dan's sidewinder.

Merlin: << Fox two! >>

The missile struck true, despite the MiG's efforts to evade it. Dan pulled up and gained altitude as he passed the debris, noting a parachute's silhouette above it.

Merlin: << Don't worry Rattler, you're in the clear. >>

by **Parcia** » Fri Jul 23, 2021 7:53 pm

1st Lt. Nickolai "Dragon" Stroika
2nd Lt. Nadia "Misha" Radomere-Stroika
December 13th, 2015 // Toredo Valley, Kahseed Island, Emmeria.

Knight <<Enforcer flight, Lion Flight. We have a couple of MiGs on our ass can't shake them. Y'all better be quick and help.>>

"We have Data link with Snake?" "Da." "Good, mark em out."

With that, Nicky rolled the Fulcrum over and dove, easing up on the throttle as to not over speed and rip his bird apart.

Dragon <<Dragon reads Knight, keep juking and let me handle em.>>

Of course this was also a sign for his wingman to fallow him, if the poor thing could even keep pace with a Diving Fulcrum. None the less, the bird screamed through the air as Nick dropped altitude and began to level out. As he did so he quickly identified the friendly IFF of the Stinger gunship and the two hostile fishbeds. He had, through diving from top cover and coming in fast, caught them all low and slow.

Perfect. He flicked the bird over to the trailing fishbed as it attempted to cover his wingmen. With his speed still high and quickly closing in, Nicky chose to show off a bit for the less veteran pilots.

Dragon << Guns Guns Guns-a-gogo. was the radio call as a stream of red tracers lanced out and tore in to the left wing of the mig, tearing chunks out and causing it to attempt to pitch up, only to run out of speed and stall, the pilot ejecting.

Opening up the throttle, he screamed past the mig and the stinger as he converted the last of his energy to speed and baited the fishbed in to tailing him. It worked, with the pilot screaming something over open coms. The only reason he even knew was because of the seemingly heated remark spat by Misha in to the open channel.

Even as he began to ease up on the speed, allowing the inferior mig to gain just enough to keep him motivated on while turning, twisting and diving along the barely visible ground, he scolded his daughter. "Do not fraternize with the enemy over open radi-" the last part of his remark was cut off with the sudden jerk of the plane as Nicky avoided the fishbed's own cannon fire.

This forced him out of his own attempted maneuver, a cobra, and forced him to simply apply a little bit of speed and bank as hard as possible. The sudden course change and the turning advantage of the Fulcrum over the older plane caused the Mig to over shoot and attempt to peel off.

Nicky rolled the bird over and opened the throttle to keep him in close range while Nadia took weapon's control began attempting a target lock with one of their heat seekers. The Fishbed could read the room and began to attempt to break lock, but her father was far, far hotter on the stick and flying a bird far, far more agile then the aging relic. In a few seconds, she had a good lock and fired.

Misha << Dragon, Fox-3>> The R-74 flew off the rail and bore down on the mig as he attempted to pop counter measures and evade. It worked, sorta, with a partial hit caused by the missile choosing one of the nearer flares to home in on. The shrapnel and blast shredded his rear engine exhaust and likely caused some form of internal damage, as he didn't seem to do much as Nick closed in and read out another code as he depressed the trigger on the stick.

Dragon <<Guns Guns Guns.>>

The enemy mig fell to the snowy floor awash in flame.

Dragon <<Dragon Splashes 2, T-W-O, Knight your clear, have fun old friend.>>
Nick pitched the bird up and opened the after burner, climbing for as much altitude as he could as he attempted to set him self up for another dive from up top.

It seemed other unitmates were under some heat, so Nick vectored his plane over towards the heat of the battle was.

by **Kassaran** » Fri Jul 23, 2021 8:43 pm

Capt. Romolo 'Sciabola' Beninati, Eagle One
13 December, 2015 // Toredo Valley, Emmeria

Romolo's eyes swept across the battlefield as it was shown from the lofty perch he had taken. The ice had fully peeled way from his wings and control surfaces, meaning he was set to reengage. Watching as the mercenaries began their attack runs however, he waited a moment, delaying his approach until he was sure he'd be clean to begin rolling hot to the battlefield. The Phantom's large frame protesting against the physicality of the maneuver, he frowned, but dismissed the concerns overall. He knew the craft was good for a couple dozen more flight hours in the least, and with the current rate of income that his flight had managed to obtain, he'd need half that to get into a more modern set of wings. His eyes scanning the HUD before him, the radar having been flipped to a more narrow search angle, enabled the old fighter-bomber to gain a somewhat clearer view of the airspace directly above Bravo as he reset.

"Paffuto, get me a new approach vector. Looks like the mercenari have gotten stuck in."

There was no response, but the communications channel opening again as Paffuto began coordinating with one of the Buttress JTACs on the ground. It seemed as though an armored assault on the East end of the factory had been repelled by the Mercenari, and the northern approach had been stalled by his and Rondine's previous attack run. The West side, however, was in panic as an almost complete armored car platoon made its way into the outer-most perimeter of the factory's grounds. It would be an insanely close drop, but one he'd need to ensure happened if they wanted the Marines on the ground to stand a chance. The JTACs on the ground had similar feelings on the matter as the APC's were additionally being protected by a platoon of T-72's.

Sciabola: <<Eagle One, in. Eagle Two, on me. Three, maintain formation. Thirty second spacings. Let's finish them!>>

Behind him, Paffuto worked the targeting computer for the JDAM's, furiously plugging in coordinates and referencing the set ones. The JDAMs cued and set on their racks, the HUD began its countdown to release. He hadn't seen the number four plane in his flight since the last run, but he knew they were still up, somewhere. He'd have to give them a check once this run was done. It was highly likely that a lucky shot had damaged their radio, but it couldn't lead to him stalling out here. He had a lot to make up for from the previous mission, and he'd be damned if he was humiliated again by inaction.

Paffuto: <<Pickle, Times Two!>>

The Phantom responded to the statement with a slight shudder as it lost another 2,000 pounds to the fury of the battle below. The airframe already beginning to show signs of wear from the approach through the blizzard, Beninati's eyes watched as a pair of Mig-21's slipped past his nose, diving towards where one of the Mercenari elements had been. Rolling to port, he kept the throttle open and the afterburners hot as the heavy fighter roared through the skies, struggling to get it's nose on target. In the back seat, he heard Paffuto read off the kill confirmations, struggling against the G-forces to switch over to the Air-to-air weapons momentarily, before the reticle came online.

Below, the JDAM's sailed clean of the aircraft and descended through the whirling whiteout, into the frenzy of the storm. A second passed in which the bombs suddenly became visible as blurs of iron, moments before forming clouds of dirt, snow, and ash with their devastating payload. The T-72 which had been painted by the JTAC, had only progressed a few meters beyond the point where the 1,000 pound bomb fell, and the shockwave lifted it up onto it's nose before tearing open the armored vehicle. Flames and detonating munitions shot up into the air nearly a hundred meters before the spectacle came to an abrupt end. Around the T-72, the pair of BRDM-2's which had been seeking to use the tank as a source of protection against the infantry holed up within the factory, now lay as burning, ruined hulls. The biting winds whipping at the flames as they faintly illuminated each, a burning testament to the destructive force of the bombs.

Nearby, a pair of T-72's had come to a stop, shaken by the detonating bombs, but thinking themselves safe, they began to progress again through the snow, BRDM-2's trailing them at a now much further distance. Iron fell from the sky again and the crew in the foremost T-72 heard a thunderous ringing sound as a moment's warning before their worlds disappeared into heat and shrapnel, and then nothingness. The JDAM, having directly impacted the top of the turret, had only deflected slightly in the time it had taken the fuse to ignite, and the smoking, fiery, churning remnants of the two tanks. The remaining BRDM-2's now without cover as their armored support had just been eliminated.

2nd Lt. Marco 'Rondine' Petraglia, Eagle Two
13 Decemmber, 2015 // Toredo Valley, Emmeria

"That's two more tanks to our credit. Sciabola's taking up chase after a pair of MiG's that just passed him. I got them on radar, but just barely. Looks like they got the-"

"Yeah- I got it Tasso. Thanks. Tell me when you have lock."

The ever-focused machine that was Rondine's mind had begun to run through its calculations again, trying to determine if he would have the airspeed and thrust to keep the snow and ice from bringing him to the ground. The raging thunder of the fighting below had only become a dull roar in his mind, the whining sound of the turbojets playing the part of white noise to his restless brain. The world was flurries of white, punctuated by the occasional hurtling silhouette or shape in the blizzard, or the occasional tracer leaping up from the ground. Beyond that, Rondine's eyes were focused entirely on his instruments from within the jet. He'd flown on instruments only before. He liked it, preferred it. There was a grim certainty to what the instruments told you and one could conduct themselves with all that more precision and accuracy if only they trusted the machine they had sworn themselves to fly into battle.

The radar had tone, the lock-on of the Sparrow's head in his trail left fuselage station coming to life on it's rack. The world narrowed for a moment as Rondine focused, his eyes trying to pick out every last pixel from the radar, from the HUD, as he watched Sciabola's Phantom suddenly pull off. Rolling right, his ears faintly heard the sounds of Tasso speaking to Paffuto, or Paffuto to Tasso, not that it mattered to Rondine. All that mattered was the kill now, and the words that released him from his hyperfocus snapped him back into awareness.

Sciabola: <<Eagle One, Fox One- missile's trashed. Peeling. Two, engage!>>

Tasso: <<Eagle Two, Fox One!>>

The Sparrow tracked for a moment, but the MiGs broke off and the missile failed to maintain lock as the Fishbeds slipped just out of reach. As one flew hard to the right, the other rapidly began to climb and make for the edge of the storm. There was a brief moment of indecision, but the speed and momentum of the fight had carried Rondine along the path of the rising MiG, and so he chased it. The Fishbed's tailpipe burned brightly in the blizzard, like a shining beacon in the furball slowly beginning to form above Bravo, but his eyes traced the path of the aircraft and knew it would be struggling in a few more seconds to maintain momentum. The MiG had been counting on anything with less engine power than it to be on its tail, but as the twin J-79's shrieked and wailed liked banshees, the realization of his mistake dawned on the MiG pilot.

"Tasso! Now!"

Tasso: <<Eagle Two, Fox Two!>>

The growling sidewinder slid off the rail and rocketed towards the slowly yawing MiG. The pilot feebly attempting to regain some speed, he would be caught in full deflection by now, and he couldn't afford to lay off his military power as he struggled to maintain altitude. Flares spilled from both sides of the MiG, signs of the desperation of it's pilot as the Sidewinder's smoke trail arced through the air and in less than five seconds, ended in a black cloud of smoke and doom. The MiG, bending at the waist, split apart as its stricken engine belched fire and smoke, and the wing slowly came loose. Straightening out, Rondine watched as the Phantom sped by, looking for the parachute, but realizing that the damage done had been far more extensive as the aircraft had been not only shorn in half, but gutted in the explosion. The pilot nowhere to be found.

"Damn Rondine, looks like we smoked him. Get us out of here."

Rondine could only numbly nod as he brought the Phantom nearer the edge of the blizzard, pulling up and through the clouds. The comms filled with a moment of activity, before Sciabola's Phantom came rumbling out of the white wisps below, trailing a fishbed that was desperately trying to reenter the flurry, but had made a wrong turn in its mad dash for escape from the battlefield. A streak of white smoke lanced out from the Phantom as it followed the MiG in its wide turn, the smoke trail quickly catching up and ending in a black puff of smoke which saw the MiG's own engine begin leaving a dense cloud of ruin, coughing up its shredded innards as it travelled through the air. A moment later, a parachute canopy could be seen as the pilot ejected, preferring to brave the cold of the blizzard than the inferno of his plane.

Paffuto: <<Eagle One, Splash one Fishbed for us.>>

Sciabola: <<Rolling out and extending. Two, form up on me, we'll wait for Three and Four to egress.>>

Rondine nodded, nosing his Phantom out of the higher altitude he'd managed to push it into, and falling in off of Sciabola's wing as the Emmerian pilots waited for their fellow compatriots to make it out of the fight. There was little that he could do, given the circumstances, but it was better to ensure the flight was still all in one piece, rather than risk a third pass into the furball and a potential accidental collision with any of the aircraft hidden within.

by **Anowa** » Sat Jul 24, 2021 1:06 pm

1st Lt. Victoria "Abel" Cain and 2nd Lt. Martin "Wiseass" Greene
0917, December 13th 2015 // Khesed Island, Emmeria

Abel was somewhat apprehensive to the number of craft circling the Facxtory proper. Sure, while protecting the factory was important, they wouldn't last long without a steady stream of ordinance after all, the Marines on the ground had enough AT to at least hold the Estovakian armor at bay, if not outright repel it in the numbers reported. Meanwhile, the Lieutenant general's position, and the annex where all the ordinance was shipped out, was close to getting overrun the number of tracers was any indication.

Drifter's orders were less than specific. Which probably didn't help in a situation where things were already less than organized, meaning the order to form elements fell to the Flight's number 2... Her.

Abel: <<Lion 2. Lion 3 and Lion 6, form an elements and watch each other's backs. Wiseass, you're with me, Dragon, form up on the Captain. Maintain element, and keep an eye on each other, make sure your collision lights are off as well.>>

The last bit of her sentence did give her a small sense of inspiration. namely in the zone of drawing fighters to an equal engagement.

Abel: <<Wiseass. I got a plan. I'll do a rocket run then I'll be zoom climbing, you watch my back.>>

Wiseass: <<You sure? You remember the whole 'go up, blow up' mantra they taught us. Right?>> a pause on net <<...Right?>>

Abel said nothing in response, only flicking collision lights on as she dove in to the blizzard, the decades old airframes the duo were piloting began groaning under the strain of the winds, but held together.

It would take a good view seconds before she took notice of tracers as some vehicles closed in range of the red flares. Rockets primed, she fired a four rocket salvo at a duo of targets she undoubtedly spotted as MBTs. The response from a nigh top down was a duo of cook off and the duo of T-80s taking Silver at turret toss.

Abel: <<Abel, splash two times MBTs. making another pass.>>

Her guts shifted in to her pelvis as she turned into a relatively hard 10 G turn that tapered quickly into 9, then 8, then settling out perpendicular to her last run. Throttle was pitched up as she approached the collection of armor and trucks moving alongside infantry. Dots dove out of trucks and in to the snow, as BMPs stopped and started turning their turrets around to fire on the approaching Draken.

Abel: <<Guns Guns Guns.>>

A rather long burst of tracers spat forth from the right root mounted gun. A mix of HE and composite AP ripping through the infantry and BMP formation, with only mild application of rudder, she weaved through a line of three BMPs, and four trucks. Two of the BMPs cooked off, and all of the trucks started burning. The infantry, from what she could see, were largely alright, they would easily be tackled by the entrenched marines when they got in range.

RWR whined, and Abel immediately pulled in to a zoom climb at full burn.

Abel: <<Wiseass.>>

Wiseass: <<Already on 'em.>>

After a few moments, Abel broke through the ceiling of the blizzard and was once again bathed in light.

Below, a duo of MiG-21s and Wiseass followed.

The F-104 let loose a stream of tracers into the sky as well as a duo of Sidewinders. The 20mm rounds found their bite in the engine of a now falling MiG-21, as the missiles slammed in to the spine of the other, as it vainly attempted to evade.

Wiseass: <<You gonna turn the lights off now?>>

Abel simply chuckled as the red, green and white dots on her craft turned off. Both craft leveled out and started surveying for any more hostile craft poking through the blizzard.

Abel: <<You see anything in there?>>

Wiseass: <<Not that I couldn't before.>> a pause, <<Actually now that I think about it... Why was Blackrock so well defended?>>

Abel: <<Meaning?>>

Wiseass: <<It has no strategic value this time of year. It's mostly tourism, filmmaking, retail and farming. Why load it up with the projected forces?>>

Abel: <<Wiseass, I swear to fucking God, if you jinx->>

AWACS Snake Pit: <<Got a message from forces in the ongoing Operation Whiplash to all forces, patching it in.>>

AWACS Ghost Eye: <<Ghost Eye here. Projected forces at Blackrock are much lower than expected, less than a quarter. Given the timing, it seems naive to assume they aren't headed your way. We have to mop up here, Kostroma and Avalanche are inbound but it will be some time before they're in any position to engage. Prepare for an overwhelming offensive soon.>>

Swan Song: <<Of course the Intel twats were sitting on their own dicks. Alright, to everyone on this net! We're about to have quite the fucking armoured welcoming party rolling in, so have all your AT at the ready and distribute it down to a squad level, disposables, SMAWs, Javelins, whatever you got. MGS crews have AP loaded and leave the soft targets to our air support and infantry. Prioritize the MBTs and light tanks. If you run out of AP, aim for optics and tracks with HE. We've held this ground for almost two months so far, but don't count the days, count only the number of Stovies you've killed, oorah?>>

A number of officers and NCOs on the command net gave the appropriate response.

<<To our air cover, there's a traffic tunnel in the Valley's east, and one in the west. I'll leave collapsing them to your discretion, as I can't be asked to have a proper fix on where the enemy is coming from at this point other than vaguely north. Nothing short of a two thousand pounder is gonna do jack shit though, so don't waste your ordinance. Otherwise there's a fuck load of roads in and the whole valley opens up in the north. None of the bridges in the area are strong enough to hold anything more than a BMP, so anything on the east side of the river running through the valley is headed to the annex, and anything to the west is coming for the factory.>>

Anvil: <<General, it's Duggard. We've counted up ordinance and all we've got is two Javelin's left and only one targeter. Everything left in the annexes we either can't fire or is encased in wet rack ice.>>

Swan Song: <<There's already a truck on the way with launchers. Air Cover, make sure that truck makes it. Swan Song, Out.>>

Abel couldn't help but glare at the now descending F-104. The whole valley was about to be brow deep in shit, because someone had to open their fat fucking mouth.

Ace Combat: Ashes of War (IC/Closed)

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