The Shattered Pearl [MT, IC, APP]

by **Weltkria** » Sat Jan 07, 2023 8:04 pm

ZZZ:?? FLASH!

-URGENT MESSAGE!-

REBEL FORCES HAVE REFUSED THE ULTIMATUM. 

EXECUTE WAR PLAN WHITE.

END OF MESSAGE.

Pastderwick AFB
The Klaxon roared to life, and they jumped into action.

The 45 men of the 80th Air Group climbed into their seats. Lieutenant Daniel Jackson flicked on switch after switch as his aircraft hummed to life - today they would do their duty - their duty to the Alfordshirian Constitution. Each and every one of them had sworn their oath - their oath to the founding document, to the ideals of the nation. The traitors would be punished, taken aback by Alfordshirian Steel and missiles.

Engines roared to life as ground-crew finished final checks, arming each aircraft with a exotic mix of missiles. Flight plans played across his screen as his radio went live, hundreds of aircraft coordinating over the net. It was retribution - the most beautiful thing. His aircraft gracefully rose into the air, afterburners roaring to life.

33rd Air Defense Bat, Ulaki Free State
The Sentinel silently watched, monitoring the skies with a constant bombardment of radio waves. Her operators were inattentive, letting her run in automatic mode - giving her free-rein over shootdowns.

The site brought her powerful radars to bear on the enemy aircraft. Her operators authorized the engagement, jeering at the incoming enemy planes.

The first missiles sped out of their cells.

Somewhere

The cloaked figure cracked his knuckles, relishing in the news.

Oh - they had perfectly fallen for the bait. Some uranium taken from a Alfordshiran Nuclear plant - throw it into a crude nuclear bomb, then detonate it in the region with the most unrest.

Alas, it took a mere month or so for Alfordshire to fall. The only thing he had to do was contact his.. colleagues, and they would create more chaos.

After so long, he felt jubilant. The unshakeable juggernaut was teetering, and victory for his nation - his people, was in sight.

All he had to do was wait.

by **Legatia** » Sun Jan 08, 2023 5:55 pm

Meridon Defense Forces, Task Group Grandplains
-
Somewhere, the Pacific Ocean

Thousands of miles away in an office building in downtown Cordelia, the intercepted message was relayed through secure lines to the Office of Naval Intelligence. In the span of five minutes it had been cracked, translated, scanned and uploaded. A transmitter about the rooftop oriented itself and shot a signal only a fraction of a second in length to an overhead satellite. As Commodore Mastens, standing in the ops room aboard the aircraft carrier Baymark, looked over the message's receipt time and compared it to the watch on his wrist, he noted a ten minute delay.

Impressive.

Standing alongside him in the operations room was a collection of naval officers whose job it was to coordinate one of the larger air actions in recent times. The preparations for this had been made in a hurry, due to the volatile situation developing in Alfordshire, and the captured intercepts about the ultimatum. Troops had to be recalled from leave, aircrews needed to bring their craft on the line and ready to sortie, assets needed to be positioned and most importantly, the timing had to be immaculate.

As was standard procedure, his only lens into the happenings around his ship came from the datalink radar feed of the Herald aircraft orbiting above. Three had been committed to this mission, two for detection and a third for air battle management exclusively. His carrier held two more in reserve. They had detected the takeoff of the aircraft from the militant's sectors within their 400 mile detection range, as the strike aircraft flew outwards- vaguely towards their positions.

No doubt an annoyance to any significant power in the region had been the electronics warfare activity conducted in the area for at least the past three days. A constant flight of two, sometimes three, loitering aircraft from Meridon proper had been producing a wall of electronic jamming noise ahead of the aircraft carrier group, frustrating any radar based attempt to locate either the warships or the aircraft conducting operations nearby it.

The jamming was ongoing even now, with the signals of three aircraft detectable on station- for any expert in tracking their signals over the past days, this normally coincided with a 'shift change' within the next 10 to 15 minutes, where the aircraft longest on station would hike home for fuel. In this instance, however, all three aircraft were fully refueled, and able to remain on station for the entire two-hour timespan that this operation would require. Hiding behind this wall of noise was another wall of orbiting aircraft, consisting of a veritable legion of carrier and land based tanker aircraft and their fighters in tow. As Mastens checked his watch to the printed OPLAN before him, he noted that the timeframes were within parameters. The last report he had gotten from the inbound flight of C-12 strategic airlifters was that they were making good time. They should be approaching the rear of their formation...

"Bridge, TAO. New radar contacts, group, bearing one-six-seven, range, one-eight-zero, angels thirty and descending. IFF returns. Evaluate radar contacts as Harpy."

..now. The Commodore smiled as he looked on his radar track. Things were going to plan. The elaborate minutiae of this operation were designed to be lightning quick, avoid fighting if possible, and allow the boots to get on the ground as rapidly as possible. Harpy was a flight containing the first wave, approximately an over strength battalion, of Army paratroopers, including weapons and gear to sustain a fixed fighting position at the target airport. They were about an entire squadron's worth of 10 aircraft, intended to form the first foothold in the region.

Army Pathfinder teams had penetrated ahead a few days ago, having set up observation posts along the approach to the north and the airport itself. Troop movements would be monitored closely, specifically at the airport. Hopefully, an airport of the size they were attacking would be lightly or un-defended, but if it was, the groups would have sent whatever information they had over to the strike group. The north especially was watched, as it was a highly probable venue for armed reinforcements to flow.

From Baymark's flight deck, another Wasp rocketed down the catapult as it soared to the sky, the last of the package's aircraft being sent into the sky. Whereas the two squadrons of the group's Lynx aircraft had been loaded exclusively with heavy air-to-air loadouts, the Wasps were loaded relatively light, some as part of the air defense suppression mission, some carrying rockets and bombs for emergency close air support. It was the Commodore's hope that neither aircraft type fired anything tonight, but beyond all things he was pragmatic, and realized the possibility.

As the transports closed the distance between them and the aircraft carrier, the ballet moved into motion at last. Breaking from their lazy race-track orbits, the two squadrons of air superiority fighters crossed past the jamming aircraft and towards the mainland, their radars were kept off to further obscure their exact positioning as they flew through the cloud of jamming. They got their radar updates from the Herald in the backline, and if fighters were detected vectoring their way, their own fire control radars would be flipped on. Yet finding the fighters would be a tricky game in and of itself, as while the group emitted nothing and remained in range of the jammers, it was difficult- if not impossible- to gain a solid track on their locations. This jamming would significantly weaken once they crossed into land, however, the aegis serving more as a curtain than it did as a shield. Once they were in the detection parameters of enemy radars, their own radars would flick on.

Their presence would be announced on a number of channels at a precise, designated time, by radio, telegraph and other means:

>TO WHOM IT MAY CONCERN-
>The Meridon Defense Forces are establishing a relief and humanitarian zone, focused along the two cities on the southwestern highway spur southwest of Bosterham.
>In order to supplement and supply these locations, an air defense zone spanning a width of 15 miles centered on that southwestern spur will be established
>This location will be used to springboard peacekeeping and humanitarian relief operations in this nation. 
>We do not intend to engage any military forces currently present in this area and the surrounding areas so long as they are cooperative. 
>Violations by armed parties anywhere in this area against our forces, however, may be met with force.

The Commodore pressed a hand to his heart, praying that he could pull this off without losing anyone. The fighters pressed forward, they being the bulwark should that hopeful aspiration fall short.

OOC note- See movement diagram here. Black represents outline of air corridor, red star is airport of intended landing, and the red arrow is the direction of incoming aircraft, fighters and transports included.

by **Lesbias** » Tue Jan 10, 2023 8:42 pm

Rear Admiral Viktor Tomschik looked out from the LNF Svoboda, it was rare to get a moment of privacy and he was sick of the monotone grey of the Navy's ships. However it seems that Lord Neba had decided to spite him that day as clouds choked the sky. He was annoyed, the fleet was already behind schedule, the fleet should have launched 2 weeks ago but hesitations from PM Vunderjul had delayed any action which could be taken. Vunderjul had always been incredibly anxious over foreign policy, if this went well, it could encourage her to take a few more risks abroad, at least, Tomschik hoped.

So far however, the mission had been, ok. Not good but no major setbacks either, at least so far, at least they were almost to the coast of Alfordshire, or what was Alfordshire. The strategy was simple, at least how it was explained to him.

"Just get us information, get the Worker's Confederation supplies, and provide discreet Naval Support." That's what Vunderjul had said, the rest it seemed, was up to him. His plan was to anchor near the cove in between Bosterham and Coteshead, from there send out the 3 reconnaissance planes he had on board scout for the Confederation along the coast. Then get them the supplies they needed. The goal was to remain as quiet as possible, they had a decent and fast fleet, if they encountered someone the goal was to bomb them, hit em with their Battlecruiser's guns, and get out ASAP.

Although the fleet was effective, it was in no way enough to stand up to another of much larger size. He silently cursed his luck, he needed to pull this off. Maybe then he could perhaps bargain for a larger fleet? It was unlikely, but if even if there was a small chance he needed to take it, without a larger fleet- "Sir!"

His train of thought broken, he quickly looked up to see a subordinate. "We're almost ready to launch the reconnaissance planes sir." Nodding quickly he snapped back to reality, the sounds of movement on deck as the LNVS R-28's began to prepare to fly off. He looked on, face unreadable but internally flooded with emotion, as the planes began to fly off into the montone grey above them.

by **Eodor** » Tue Jan 17, 2023 6:06 pm

17th Airborne Regiment
208th Airborne Battalion
Skies over Heltis

Autumn had rolled in. The days were nice and short, the leaves were golden and falling lazily off the trees, the nights were long, cool, and quiet. High above the city, its people sleeping peacefully - as much as one could these days, ordinary life never truly stopped in times of crisis, that was what made a crisis so tragic - the moon shone silver, bathing the cold, still, world below in a thin blanket of light. The glassy waves across the bay glittered as they lapped sleepily at the land. The whole world seemed, for but a few hours, to be still. The tragedies of the past few weeks paused.

Across the quiet bay, helicopters thundered. High above, visible to radar only as an immense screen of noise, SL-100s cruised ahead, their precious and well-armed cargo readying themselves for the drop. For over five-hundred men, the roar of the engines filled their ears, the smell of the coming battle infused their noses. None were frightened, none shook, none held any regrets or doubts - if they were to die, they would die, that was the way of things, that was what they had signed up for.

Each man knew that far below, anti-aircraft crews were slowly coming to life. Yet, all around them, darkness hugged them close.

Colonel Gorlikov was the ranking officer of the whole operation. He had given the objectives out to each unit personally - a habit of his he had started for the liberation of Patratovsk - and he knew the score. The entire operation banked on a gamble - it was a gamble in and of itself, of course it was - that no one on the ground would be quite decisive enough to open fire until the paratroopers were on the ground. It banked on the rebel forces being unsure of who was friend or foe; it banked on them not quite being awake enough in the middle of the night; it banked on their equipment being shoddy and unreliable; it banked on their radar being just old enough for them to see the wall of interference approaching and think it a malfunction or a cloud.

Gorlikov felt the aircraft slow slightly. He knew that the other seven in the formation were doing the same. They had been deliberately underloaded, if one was shot down, at least that would only be eighty men dead, instead of one hundred and twenty five. At least only eighty of his sons would be gone.

A red light flashed.

"Stand!"

The paratroopers rose almost in perfect union. They'd done this a hundred times before. The only difference between a combat drop and a training drop was that you had to shoot your rifle at a real person once you reached the ground, rather than an imaginary. With a metallic thud, the rear ramp opened outwards, frigid air streaming in. A green light flashed, then it was out into the cold darkness.

"Kilovatt this is Galina, we're on the ground. Air corridor Kenon is open for you. Be advised, unknown number of hostile AA in the vicinity. We're advancing on the airport terminal building now."

From the west came the distinctive, if distant, thunder of helicopters. High above, the SL-100s turned for home. Across the bay, the main force stood ready. The moment the runway was secure, the true might of the Eodorian army would be brought to bear. For now, though, Colonel Gorlikov would have to make do with the troops and vehicles he had.

The Battle for Heltis Airport had officialy begun.

by **New Antarcticania** » Sun Jan 22, 2023 1:09 am

"Good morning, Altfordshire!"
A+ 0900 Hours.
1st/13th Armoured.

Somewhere on a "beach" in "Eastern" Altfordshire....

"Crow Command to all Crow elements. Engines on, standby for dismount."

As the order is given, the engines of the T-90 jumps to life as veils of dark, black, smoke comes choking off of it's exhaust.

As the platoon of ERA-clad T-90s creep closer to the shore aboard their amphibious landing craft. A Mi-24 swoops past above the Craft, turning it's nose towards the shoulder of a nearby hill, and lets loose a salvo of rockets. Their impacts echoing slight booms across the empty stretch of beach.

Dimmed only by the light from his display screens. Captain Anselmo Castro de-slaves his T-90's CITV, swiveling it to the tank's front.

As the Landing craft finally reaches it's destination, hitting the shore and lurching it's bow slightly upwards, before descending slowly onto the ground with a thud, ramps slowly opening and making way for the armour waiting to dismount.
He reaches for the transmitter on the tank's radio, firmly pressing the dial button.

"Crow One-one to all Crow Elements. Dismount, dismount."
As soon as Castro gives the word, columns of T-90s and BMPs begins to stream out onto the beach, quickly breaking into lines abreast, and charging through the shoreline and kicking up plumes of dust and sand that could be seen from miles away. All the while letting loose ripples and salvos of gunfire.

"Contact, Armoured platoon at 1200 metres, traverse far east. On that hill, on that hill."

The gunner swivels the turret to face the aforementioned hill. Only to see the Line of Tanks and IFVs lying in hull-down already being plastered with belts of gunfire.
As an formation of BMPs maneuvers ever close to the end of the beach, an tracer comes speeding at the vehicle.
"shit, SHIT, SHIT!!" The BMP's commander yells over his comms.
"ATGM, TRAVERSE LEFT. TRAVERSE FUCKING LEFT!!"
The BMP's turret comes to face the missile screaming towards them. And, at the last moment, dispensers mounted on top of the turret releases a screen of explosive pellets, setting the entire front of the vehicle recoiling back from the explosion. When the dust clears a few moments later, the BMP moves on.
Until...
"TANK, TANK!!"
The gunner screams at the top of his lungs through his radio.
The tank in the distance turns it's gun towards the BMP, directly facing them.

"IT'S POINTING RIGHT FUCKING AT US! BACK THE FUCK UP, BACK THE FUCK U-"
The tracer can already be seen as the BMP's gunner screams to reverse. Descending upon the BMP's upper hull, it creates a massive cloud of smoke as the round makes contact.

.....

A squad of mechanized infantry rushes towards the BMP, with several men lying prone in a line abreast next to it. A rifleman climbs atop the turret, opening the commander's hatch. And revealing a lifeless body, slumped over in the gunner's seat.

The rifleman crouches down.
"How does it feel to be dead, man?"

The body moans, turning his head slightly towards the open hatch.
He murmurs...
"I gotta go take fucking shit, man.

"Jesus Christ."
The rifleman looks back at his squad, crouching in echelon on next to the BMP.
"Hey, Cordiero. Take a look at this guy!"
He helps the Gunner up from the turret.
"He just got shredded by a 125mm HEAT from 700 metres. He just got his fucking face plastered by Shrapnel and Blast-wave. And what does this Son of bitch want before he dies in a ball of fire? He wants to take a fucking shit!"

The Squad's automatic rifleman looks back up.
"Good fucking lord. Get your priorities straight, man! I mean, look at us; we're training to invade a godamn country with the dumbest, most empty-brained jarheads that's ever been trusted to hold a rifle in this side of the hemisphere. And you're out here wanting to crap out whatever you ate for breakfeast before you're crammed into an LHD?"

"Yeah, what else could you ask for before you're sent out to kill your fellow man? What, you want no shitter when you're deployed? You wanna toss your shit overboard in a bucket or something"

The BMP's radio interrupts the conversation.

"Battalion Command to all Crow Elements. Exercise concluded. Hold fire and await, over."

The gunner goes back down into his position in the BMP.

"Crow to Battalion command, copy. Casualties: One Platoon of BMP-2MNAs, One T-90MS-A disabled. Two platoons of dismounted infantry combat-ineffective. End report, over."

"Copy, received."

As the exchange over the radio turns into silence. Screams of jet engines could suddenly be heard over the beach. All the men surrounding the BMP look up at the sky...

....

Present day....

Task Group "Narwal"
Somewhere in the Pacific Ocean.
Battalion HQ/19th Armoured.
AMLS Evora (LHD-3)

The flight of four MiG-29s booms by the ship, flares popping off their backs for all of the Task group to see. Colonel Daniel Numes shakes his head slightly at the display of air power, Flyboys.

He lowers his head down to the Horizon. Standing in front of an Mi-24MNA on the flight deck.
With all of the battalion's Company commanders.

"Gentlemen" the Colonel begins to speak.
"Brigade have just informed me of our mission in Altfordshire."
Grabbing a nearby laser pointer, he shines it down on a large map of Altfordshire's Eastern Coast laid out over the deck.

"Take a good look at this map, people. Because it'll be our AO for a long, long time. Our goal is to secure three major Port cities within Altfordshire's Eastern Coast within 94 hours post-landing."

"7th Marine Brigade has been assigned with the tasking of securing the City of Coleshend. The city's a port town that's vital to civilian reconstruction efforts in County. Our battalion's been handed down the task of securing the brigade's northern flank by advancing up to 50 kilometres north-west via the main road network there. And linking up with 13th Marine Brigade in their push to secure the city of Bosterham."

"The Evora's intelligence officer has just informed me a few minutes ago about some updates on our situation.

In short: At 0600 hours this morning, Task group Narwal's ELINT vessel has picked up An wall of EWAR and Radar activity to our south-west. Pelting noise at the task group."

"In short, we're not alone. The task group just received a transmission from the Meridon Defense Forces. They're stating that they're deploying forces for humanitarian aid, and they're shutting down any air activity on the highways southwest of Bosterham. Air corridor and all."

The Colonel looks up from the map.

"In short. Don't expect an easy mission, people. High command called in armoured support for a reason, and we might have just found out why.

Standard operations brief at 1340, maintenance inspection at 1900. I want to see every vehicle under the battalion as clean as a godamn whistle. Especially when we're close to deploying by the day."

The Colonel scans the crowd of Company commanders and officers, surrounding him and the Hind. Before nodding, ever so slightly.

"Dismissed."

....

20 minutes later....
Some miles south of TG-Narwal.
'BORE' Flight (1-1/1-2)
12th Naval Fighter Squadron.
4th Naval Air Arm.
APS Omerta.

Above the clouds, two MiG-29KMs fly in echelon, slowly banking to the left.
Lieutenant Ion Nikolaev looks to his upper right at his flight lead. Before turning his attention to the MiG's Heads-down Display.

Despite the Pair's radars being turned off, the flight still receives regular updates from an nearby AEW&C flight of a Yak-44M via data link.

"AWACS 'Centre', pushing at IP Alfa. Activating package."

"Alright. Turn on the Noisemakers, wingman."

With a flick of a switch, the two electronic warfare pods that replaces the missiles on the MiGs activate. Jamming radars with noise, and shrouding the Task group in a fog of jamming.

The flight would follow And circle the fleet for the next two hours, before being relieved.

The Task group has slipped into EMCON Alpha. With most of the Task Group's radars decisively set to minimal power or shut off entirely.

Narwal begins it's approach to Altfordshire proper.

by **Legatia** » Sun Jan 22, 2023 6:39 am

Meridon Defense Forces, Task Force Grandplains
Meridonian Army
4 Regiment Airborne, 24 Battalion Airborne Infantry
Bravo Company, 2nd Platoon
-
Drop Zone Champagne, Southwest of Bosterham

This was a night of firsts for her.

Lieutenant Alice Robinson had just recently woken from her medic-induced nap, being informed by one of her squad leaders that they were 30 minutes from the drop zone. The six- maybe seven- hour flight for the Lieutenant would lead her to her first combat deployment. She and the rest of the regiment had been preparing for the immediacies of tonight's drop for the past ten, however, when she and the rest of the Regiment, assembled back at MAFB Whetgrave, had a brief from the Regimental Commander. Two other battalions were still there living in temporary arrangements, likely waiting the call from the 24th once they landed.

She and the rest of her unit would be the first ones in on the first real combat drop in years. Her first long-distance plane ride. The nerves were on for her, a sentiment that was not universal across the rest of the hundreds of paratroopers in the cargo bay of the airlifter, but certainly shared by some.

A buzzer rattled her and all of those other paratroopers to attention.

"RED LIGHT! Stand up, hook up, standby!" The voices of a pair of jumpmasters, positioned at the two side doors, called out across the cargo bay. In almost perfect unison every body stood, in a less perfect one, clicks echoed across the bay as the static lines were attached to the cord that ran alongside the cabin walls of the aircraft. The paratroopers were weighed heavy, with overburdened rucksacks about their legs, weapons strapped to their side, chutes both front and rear. Easily 200 pounds of equipment or more, she guessed. Some handled it better than others.

Like the legion of others she waited for the jumpmaster's go. The 10 lifter aircraft flew in two lines, five aircraft in length each, separated out by a little under a mile. Her group would be dropping on Drop Zone Champagne, the other group on Drop Zone Cabernet- both nondescript fields in the vicinity of the target airport, wide and flat enough for coordination operations and separated by a little over a mile. Going with their reinforced groups would be a smattering of support equipment, to include engineers, anti-aircraft and fire support equipment, an artillery section, and elements of the recce units. Enough forces for the reinforced battalion to take and hold their objective, and then some. Anything else, there was an incredibly heavy fire support presence orbiting above- two squadron's worth of Wasps, outfitted for ground strikes, and another two squadrons of Super Lynxes protecting them.

Despite all of the reassurances, Lieutenant Robinson still felt jittery.

The red overhead light in the cabin switched. She didn't perceive the new color green illuminating her and her comrades. Only the words of the jumpmaster.

The next instant she knew, she was feet first from the door, the grey form of her aircraft disappearing into the darkness of the night above her. Air whistled past her helmet and her gear as the static line caught, she felt the resistance only for a moment, and in the span of a few seconds, an enormous green chute billowed open above her. Beneath her, the rucksack beneath her legs fell on a rope, to smash into the ground before her when she made contact with the ground.

The ground beneath her looked almost unspoiled in the purity of the night. Here, where lights still illuminated the ground below, she was comforted to know there was a lack of tracer fire coming from the ground. She didn't see any fires.. either the resistance was gone or it was far away, but it didn't mean she wouldn't be fighting when she hit the ground. She let the time in the air pass until she made contact with the ground a few minutes past.

Meridonian Defense Forces, Task Force Grandplains
Meridonian Navy
5 Carrier Air Group [5 CAG], 1 Naval Airborne Control Squadron [1 NACS]
S2M2 Herald AEWC platform Sunspot
-
36,000 feet over the Pacific Ocean

The only constant tonight was the droning.

The Herald's pair of turboprop engines had a distinctive hum to them when they operated, most clearly on takeoff, but even on cruise settings they would remind you of their power in subtle ways. That power was more than enough to keep the carrier-borne AWACs aircraft to loiter at high altitudes, its domed ratar sweeping over the vast expanse of airspace like a searchlight looking out into the abyss.

The radar operators were bored, but they were thankful, because boring meant safe. There was a small CAP flight up over the carrier group that would be able to take care of them, but the bulk of the force was conducting sweeps over the mainland where most of the resistance was expected. Sunspot was one of three AWACS aircraft up to support the massive operation. She, along with the southernmost AWACS Heatwave, were responsible for providing the fleet with advance radar coverage from anything- ships, aircraft mostly, but anything that might arrive, including a stray flight of cruise missiles. The third AWACs, Darkstar, was controlling the air operations over Alfordshire proper, coordinating a complicated ballet of over a hundred aircraft of every stripe and form.

A systems operator in the rear peered at his screen as he detected an anomaly north of the task group, a couple hundred miles out. Distortion. The merchant traffic and airliner that were over that way began to shift positions rapidly as the radar failed to acquire a reliable track on these targets, their positions shimmying every cardinal direction by tens of miles on their displays every time the radar cast a look out that direction.

The others saw it as well. The battle manager in the command chair parked himself on the relevant radar screens for about ten minutes as the radar operators manually worked out a plot.

"Darkstar, this is Sunspot. Electronic jamming activity, bulls oh-two-nine for three six eight. I evaluate one, possibly two escort jammers at this time. No standoff jammers. Tracks are orbiting something, ground track is shifting southwest."

The radio call back was brief. "Sunspot, Darkstar, received. Out." The battle commander nodded. He wondered if the curt response was due to workload or due to EMCON, though the operators were on encrypted channels, before figuring such thoughts weren't productive and pushing them out of his mind. He looked at the lukewarm cup of coffee in his hand and contemplated drinking it.

"No doubt military. They're trying to mask something, might be a fleet." One of the operators surmised, the battle commander nodding his head. "Let's pray they're friendly. Tibbits, let's get a relay out, maybe we can go say hi."

"Aye, sir."

Meridonian Defense Forces, Task Force Grandplains
Meridonian Navy
2 Maritime Patrol Squadron [2 MPS]
M7M Kingfisher maritime patrol platform Neptune
-
26,000 feet, about 3 hours south of Alfordshire

"Transfer complete. See you assholes back in Talua."

Lieutenant David Sherman exhaled as his hands released on the yoke before him, the refueling probe above his aircraft withdrawing and retracting back towards the orbiting tanker. He had refueled the Kingfisher before, and it was one of the easier aircraft in the entire Navy fleet to do it with, the cutting-edge fly by optic system making the aircraft a dream to fly in any configuration. It didn't help the nerves of this rookie pilot who had only about 200 hours in the airframe, as regardless of aircraft, flying precise formation only a couple dozen feet from another aircraft was never an easy task. It was made easier with the fact that on this flight the aircraft was not armed with the antishipping missiles she would sometimes carry, and not even torpedoes. She carried maybe a third of her load of sonobuoys, and her countermeasures had not been replaced since the last time they were used. They had forgot to check how many they had.
The aircraft commander, a lieutenant commander with a pixie cut whose name was Raunells, did not seem as worried. Had her seat reclined any further back her boots would be on the flight displays. Though she carried an air of calm confidence and a slightly smug grin behind a pair of Aviators- practically mandatory uniform for every Navy pilot- she was dutifully monitoring her junior as the procedure was conducted. As he backed out from the tanker, the empty plane above him began a bank to the left, clearing his aircraft and heading back home.

He felt his controls lock as he gave a slight jump of surprise, figuring something had gone wrong with the airplane until Raunells corrected him.

"Mmmmy controls. You're sweating all over my fucking yoke, dumbass. Go get a soda and chill, it's my turn to fly anyways."

"A-aye, ma'am;" the lieutenant answered with a relieved breath and a smile. He went to open the door, but one of the systems operators was already there, handing him a carbonated fruit beverage which dripped with condensation. The pilot accepted it, and the man standing there gave him a firm pat on the shoulders. "Good work, kid."

"Thanks, Mitch." Their aircraft began a slight left bank as well, Raunells about ready to bring this exercise to an end. That was until the console between the two pilot's seats began to print a message. "Oh, brother."

>>FWD MSG
NQ1841 << NCRS1000 << MNAS TALUA << COMPACFLT
EMERGENT TASKING- IMMEDIATE- 
CONDUCT RECONNAISSANCE IVO GRID COORDINATES TO FOLLOW
CONDUCT FLIGHT IAW INT'L LAW
DO NOT ENTER ALFORDSHIRE COMBAT ZONE
VERIFY IDENTITY, NUMBER, TYPE OF SUSPECT NAVAL VESSELS
TRANSMIT FOLLOWING NETWORKS
EXPECT ADNL TANKER SUPPORT ON EXFIL
AUTH COMPACFLT
>>MSG ENDS

"..Fuuuuuuuuck...." The Lieutenant Commander groaned unbecomingly as she read the message and her copilot retook his seat. "Some fucking cosmic karma."

"What is it?" the Lieutenant took the message in hands and began to read it himself. Raunells explained anyway.

"They gave us some vague-ass grid coordinates north of the carrier group at Alfordshire. Apparently they're expecting some unknown military something up there, and they want us to go give them a postcard. Sacrificial lamb, more like."

"So what do we do?" The Lieutenant pondered, earning a sigh from his commander as she advanced the engines, raising the nose and beginning a climb.

"Well, we've got a three hour flight there, and maybe another hour on station to find them before we're going to need to head back. They didn't say 'tankers' plural and I don't plan on swimming today, so we're going to keep the flight profile nice and smooth, aye? Go up there, take a look, say hi, come home. Let's hope they're the kind to say hi back instead of throw us a SAM."

by **New Antarcticania** » Sun Jan 22, 2023 8:49 pm

Legatia wrote:Meridon Defense Forces, Task Force Grandplains
Meridonian Army
4 Regiment Airborne, 24 Battalion Airborne Infantry
Bravo Company, 2nd Platoon
-
Drop Zone Champagne, Southwest of Bosterham

This was a night of firsts for her.

Lieutenant Alice Robinson had just recently woken from her medic-induced nap, being informed by one of her squad leaders that they were 30 minutes from the drop zone. The six- maybe seven- hour flight for the Lieutenant would lead her to her first combat deployment. She and the rest of the regiment had been preparing for the immediacies of tonight's drop for the past ten, however, when she and the rest of the Regiment, assembled back at MAFB Whetgrave, had a brief from the Regimental Commander. Two other battalions were still there living in temporary arrangements, likely waiting the call from the 24th once they landed.

She and the rest of her unit would be the first ones in on the first real combat drop in years. Her first long-distance plane ride. The nerves were on for her, a sentiment that was not universal across the rest of the hundreds of paratroopers in the cargo bay of the airlifter, but certainly shared by some.

A buzzer rattled her and all of those other paratroopers to attention.

"RED LIGHT! Stand up, hook up, standby!" The voices of a pair of jumpmasters, positioned at the two side doors, called out across the cargo bay. In almost perfect unison every body stood, in a less perfect one, clicks echoed across the bay as the static lines were attached to the cord that ran alongside the cabin walls of the aircraft. The paratroopers were weighed heavy, with overburdened rucksacks about their legs, weapons strapped to their side, chutes both front and rear. Easily 200 pounds of equipment or more, she guessed. Some handled it better than others.

Like the legion of others she waited for the jumpmaster's go. The 10 lifter aircraft flew in two lines, five aircraft in length each, separated out by a little under a mile. Her group would be dropping on Drop Zone Champagne, the other group on Drop Zone Cabernet- both nondescript fields in the vicinity of the target airport, wide and flat enough for coordination operations and separated by a little over a mile. Going with their reinforced groups would be a smattering of support equipment, to include engineers, anti-aircraft and fire support equipment, an artillery section, and elements of the recce units. Enough forces for the reinforced battalion to take and hold their objective, and then some. Anything else, there was an incredibly heavy fire support presence orbiting above- two squadron's worth of Wasps, outfitted for ground strikes, and another two squadrons of Super Lynxes protecting them.

Despite all of the reassurances, Lieutenant Robinson still felt jittery.

The red overhead light in the cabin switched. She didn't perceive the new color green illuminating her and her comrades. Only the words of the jumpmaster.

The next instant she knew, she was feet first from the door, the grey form of her aircraft disappearing into the darkness of the night above her. Air whistled past her helmet and her gear as the static line caught, she felt the resistance only for a moment, and in the span of a few seconds, an enormous green chute billowed open above her. Beneath her, the rucksack beneath her legs fell on a rope, to smash into the ground before her when she made contact with the ground.

The ground beneath her looked almost unspoiled in the purity of the night. Here, where lights still illuminated the ground below, she was comforted to know there was a lack of tracer fire coming from the ground. She didn't see any fires.. either the resistance was gone or it was far away, but it didn't mean she wouldn't be fighting when she hit the ground. She let the time in the air pass until she made contact with the ground a few minutes past.

Meridonian Defense Forces, Task Force Grandplains
Meridonian Navy
5 Carrier Air Group [5 CAG], 1 Naval Airborne Control Squadron [1 NACS]
S2M2 Herald AEWC platform Sunspot
-
36,000 feet over the Pacific Ocean

The only constant tonight was the droning.

The Herald's pair of turboprop engines had a distinctive hum to them when they operated, most clearly on takeoff, but even on cruise settings they would remind you of their power in subtle ways. That power was more than enough to keep the carrier-borne AWACs aircraft to loiter at high altitudes, its domed ratar sweeping over the vast expanse of airspace like a searchlight looking out into the abyss.

The radar operators were bored, but they were thankful, because boring meant safe. There was a small CAP flight up over the carrier group that would be able to take care of them, but the bulk of the force was conducting sweeps over the mainland where most of the resistance was expected. Sunspot was one of three AWACS aircraft up to support the massive operation. She, along with the southernmost AWACS Heatwave, were responsible for providing the fleet with advance radar coverage from anything- ships, aircraft mostly, but anything that might arrive, including a stray flight of cruise missiles. The third AWACs, Darkstar, was controlling the air operations over Alfordshire proper, coordinating a complicated ballet of over a hundred aircraft of every stripe and form.

A systems operator in the rear peered at his screen as he detected an anomaly north of the task group, a couple hundred miles out. Distortion. The merchant traffic and airliner that were over that way began to shift positions rapidly as the radar failed to acquire a reliable track on these targets, their positions shimmying every cardinal direction by tens of miles on their displays every time the radar cast a look out that direction.

The others saw it as well. The battle manager in the command chair parked himself on the relevant radar screens for about ten minutes as the radar operators manually worked out a plot.

"Darkstar, this is Sunspot. Electronic jamming activity, bulls oh-two-nine for three six eight. I evaluate one, possibly two escort jammers at this time. No standoff jammers. Tracks are orbiting something, ground track is shifting southwest."

The radio call back was brief. "Sunspot, Darkstar, received. Out." The battle commander nodded. He wondered if the curt response was due to workload or due to EMCON, though the operators were on encrypted channels, before figuring such thoughts weren't productive and pushing them out of his mind. He looked at the lukewarm cup of coffee in his hand and contemplated drinking it.

"No doubt military. They're trying to mask something, might be a fleet." One of the operators surmised, the battle commander nodding his head. "Let's pray they're friendly. Tibbits, let's get a relay out, maybe we can go say hi."

"Aye, sir."

Meridonian Defense Forces, Task Force Grandplains
Meridonian Navy
2 Maritime Patrol Squadron [2 MPS]
M7M Kingfisher maritime patrol platform Neptune
-
26,000 feet, about 3 hours south of Alfordshire

"Transfer complete. See you assholes back in Talua."

Lieutenant David Sherman exhaled as his hands released on the yoke before him, the refueling probe above his aircraft withdrawing and retracting back towards the orbiting tanker. He had refueled the Kingfisher before, and it was one of the easier aircraft in the entire Navy fleet to do it with, the cutting-edge fly by optic system making the aircraft a dream to fly in any configuration. It didn't help the nerves of this rookie pilot who had only about 200 hours in the airframe, as regardless of aircraft, flying precise formation only a couple dozen feet from another aircraft was never an easy task. It was made easier with the fact that on this flight the aircraft was not armed with the antishipping missiles she would sometimes carry, and not even torpedoes. She carried maybe a third of her load of sonobuoys, and her countermeasures had not been replaced since the last time they were used. They had forgot to check how many they had.
The aircraft commander, a lieutenant commander with a pixie cut whose name was Raunells, did not seem as worried. Had her seat reclined any further back her boots would be on the flight displays. Though she carried an air of calm confidence and a slightly smug grin behind a pair of Aviators- practically mandatory uniform for every Navy pilot- she was dutifully monitoring her junior as the procedure was conducted. As he backed out from the tanker, the empty plane above him began a bank to the left, clearing his aircraft and heading back home.

He felt his controls lock as he gave a slight jump of surprise, figuring something had gone wrong with the airplane until Raunells corrected him.

"Mmmmy controls. You're sweating all over my fucking yoke, dumbass. Go get a soda and chill, it's my turn to fly anyways."

"A-aye, ma'am;" the lieutenant answered with a relieved breath and a smile. He went to open the door, but one of the systems operators was already there, handing him a carbonated fruit beverage which dripped with condensation. The pilot accepted it, and the man standing there gave him a firm pat on the shoulders. "Good work, kid."

"Thanks, Mitch." Their aircraft began a slight left bank as well, Raunells about ready to bring this exercise to an end. That was until the console between the two pilot's seats began to print a message. "Oh, brother."
>>FWD MSG
NQ1841 << NCRS1000 << MNAS TALUA << COMPACFLT
EMERGENT TASKING- IMMEDIATE- 
CONDUCT RECONNAISSANCE IVO GRID COORDINATES TO FOLLOW
CONDUCT FLIGHT IAW INT'L LAW
DO NOT ENTER ALFORDSHIRE COMBAT ZONE
VERIFY IDENTITY, NUMBER, TYPE OF SUSPECT NAVAL VESSELS
TRANSMIT FOLLOWING NETWORKS
EXPECT ADNL TANKER SUPPORT ON EXFIL
AUTH COMPACFLT
>>MSG ENDS
"..Fuuuuuuuuck...." The Lieutenant Commander groaned unbecomingly as she read the message and her copilot retook his seat. "Some fucking cosmic karma."

"What is it?" the Lieutenant took the message in hands and began to read it himself. Raunells explained anyway.

"They gave us some vague-ass grid coordinates north of the carrier group at Alfordshire. Apparently they're expecting some unknown military something up there, and they want us to go give them a postcard. Sacrificial lamb, more like."

"So what do we do?" The Lieutenant pondered, earning a sigh from his commander as she advanced the engines, raising the nose and beginning a climb.

"Well, we've got a three hour flight there, and maybe another hour on station to find them before we're going to need to head back. They didn't say 'tankers' plural and I don't plan on swimming today, so we're going to keep the flight profile nice and smooth, aye? Go up there, take a look, say hi, come home. Let's hope they're the kind to say hi back instead of throw us a SAM."

There it was, a clear as day. One solitary contact from emerging from the shroud of Radar jamming and noise to the Task Group's south. Inching towards them every time the Yak-44M's radar sweeps it's bearing.

The radar operator bellows out with excitement "I GOT SOMETHING!!"

The AWACS' XO looks at the young operator's workstation "Hm? From the south?"

"Yeah, uh. One contact, at a couple hundred miles. Angles 40 and rising slightly, looks like to be... some sort of heavy aircraft, definitely military."

Thoughts and possibilities raced through the XOs mind about what could the unidentified be. Any Maritime patrol aircraft or bomber could simply bloody the fleet and turn away, with the right payload. And with the Task Group closing on Altfordshire by the day, the Fleet does not need more problems.
He's made his decision before he even began to think about it.
He finishes what remained of the water in his paper cup. Before ordering, sternly.
"Right, broadcast the reading to ALCON. Prepare to direct additional traffic southbound."

He parks himself next to the workstation of the AWACS' intelligence officer, looking at his ELINT display as the operator clicked the dial button on his headset.

"AWACS 'East' to ALCON, ALCON. Popup on the board. Identifying as flight of one aircraft... Looks like something along the lines of a Maritime patrol craft. BRAA: 187 relative to aircraft, at 345 miles, angles 40, HOT towards the task group. Designating at Alfa-One."

A response followed a few minutes later.

"Copy, launching Alert five and adopting General Quarters. Direct aircraft for intercept and turn-around from Task Group Airspace. Do not let them reach within the range of standoff weapons. Launching reserve BARCAP missions, prepare to direct."

.....

Under the glaring sun of the Pacific, a MiG-29KM parks itself into the Omerta's catapult, guided by an flight officer at his front.
The MiG, colored in Dark navy blue with some streaks of Cyan, is followed by three others that are taxing to different catapults. All donning the same color scheme.
With the blinking of a red light at small LED display to it's right, the leading MiG fires up it's afterburners, as more and more MiGs begin to roar to life on the flight deck, with crews scrambling to bring the pilots into their cockpits and run through their checks.
The pilot braces himself for the launch.

Some minutes later....
'HUSSAR' Flight (1-1 through 1-4)
17th Naval Fighter Squadron.
4th Naval Air Arm.
APS Omerta.

"Uploading Supplementary Air-to-Air link now. Bogey is closing at 342miles, heading remains the same. Be advised, we are not to let the bogey come within standoff weapons range, lest they compromise the Task Group's security. Pick it up, people, we're timed, now."

Staring down at his HDD, Major Illich punches in the buttons necessary to bring the data uplink between the fighter and the AEW&C to life. Press the enter key quickly reveals the radar contact that the AWACS was speaking about, steadily heading at the Task Group's Way.
Slowly, too.

Looking up from the display, the Major regains his grip on the center stick. And looks to his left at his three wingmen, flying in an stacked echelon.
He gives the order without a flinch of hesitation.
"Alright, you heard the man. Tally ho, I'd like to turn them back before lunch."
The Major pushes his thrust up into afterburners, pitching up his MiG and rocketing into the sky, slightly banking to the right.
The maneuver is replied by a small chorus of acknowledgements, before the rest of Illich's flights follows in their superiors' footsteps.
Breaking through the wall of jamming that 'BORE' flight is laying down. A flight of four would be revealed over the the monitors of Sunspot Heatwave and Darkstar. Speeding towards an intercept course against the approaching M7M. Minutes later, flights of two or even three would be seen appearing from the fog of Jamming on the AWACS' radars. Following the same pattern as the jammers' did. Only with it's radius becoming progressively wider and wider. As ten, maybe twelve aircraft fly around the Task Group. Circling, waiting like a swarm of bees.

by **Legatia** » Mon Jan 23, 2023 7:05 am

Meridon Defense Forces, Task Group Grandplains
Meridonian Navy
5 Carrier Air Group [5 CAG], 1 Naval Airborne Control Squadron [1 NACS]
S2M2 Herald AEWC platform Darkstar
-
36,000 feet over the Pacific Ocean

Darkstar's radio operators were certainly the busiest of the three AEWC aircraft. In control of nearly a hundred aircraft from their boat, Meridon proper, and responsible for outside relays, it was staffed with the more senior of 1 NACS' systems operators. Their datalink feeds were tied to the two other aircraft orbiting and they received their picture mostly from them, but Darkstar's own radar still spun quietly above the aircraft.

When Omerta launched, the reaction was almost near panic. But the trained officers in the aircraft's rear did not let it show throughout anything but a yell.

"Radar contacts- Radar signatures, we have FIs north!"

The immediate response of the Commander-ranked Battle Manager in the rear was to sprint the few feet to the operator's station, nudging him aside and looking at the selected radar scope. The message had already been relayed from Sunspot in the north the second their radars picked the flight up exiting the jamming.

"More Alordshirians?" He asked.

"Na-no, sir. I count 4.. no, scratch that. Additional cutting through that jamming from earlier. I have radars, fighter type, and contact groundspeed tracks are moving at high speed. They're climbing. Carrier-borne fighters." The assessment was easy, and the Commander concurred. A carrier that close to theirs, though, was word for caution.

"Send word to Chapel, and wave that recon flight off. I think we know what we need for now, and I'd rather not have anyone shot down tonight."

"Aye, sir."

Meridonian Defense Forces
Meridonian Navy
2 Maritime Patrol Squadron [2 MPS]
M7M Kingfisher maritime patrol platform Neptune
-
26,000 feet, about 3 hours south of Alfordshire

"Neptune, Neptune, this is Darkstar on guard- priority. You have a flight of interceptors bearing on your position. I am unable to support you. Abort your mission."

Raunells sighed, while Sherman tensed. No patrol jockey liked those words, considering they were a sitting duck for fighters. It was correct of them to assume they might be armed, though perhaps a heavyhanded response for a solitary radar contact. It mattered not.

"Darkstar, Neptune on guard. We copy. Mission abort. Good luck."

Hundreds of miles away, the Kingfisher turned away, heading home. It didn't do a thing, but it had done everything it needed.

Meridon Defense Forces, Task Group Grandplains
Meridonian Navy
MRS Baymark (R-14), Sistine-class aircraft carrier
-
Somewhere off the coast of Alfordshire

The Commodore sat in the CIC with the rest of the officers, monitoring the air war. So far things were going good. No contacts between the fighters and the Alfordshirians yet, and the drop was underway.

The situation was about to complicate very quickly when Darkstar's radio call horned in over 1MC.

"Chapel, Darkstar priority. We have FI radar contacts- update, multiple FI radar contacts, bulls zero-two-eight for three-one-four. Same location as reported escort jammers. I am counting a total of one-four contacts. Four contacts on return course to the fighter, bulls zero-five-five for four hundred. Additional one-zero contacts in orbit around group, designate group TANGO-ONE. I evaluate contacts as UAH carrier-based aircraft."

"Shit." Mastens cursed. He knew it was a possibility, but this complicated plans. He'd need to throw everything this time. "Launch our reserves to bring Handaxe off station. Four flights on sweep and escort. Put Handaxe on a BARCAP two hundred out, let's give 'em second thoughts about sending anything south."

"You got it, sir." The carrier's captain nodded to his CAG, who passed the message to the airboss and the TAO talker.

"Launch the alert fighters, sound action stations air raid."

The fleet was already at action stations, but the update went out anyways as the fleet's escorts prepared for contact.

Meridon Defense Forces, Task Group Grandplains
Meridonian Navy
10 Naval Fighter Squadron [10 NFS], "High Spades"
Handaxe Lead/1-1, F5M6 Lynx
-
Flight of 12, 35,000 ft above Alfordshire

Lieutenant Riley Jenning, the radar intercept officer aboard Handaxe 1-1 looked at the silver-braced watch strapped to his left wrist to note the time. It'd been about an hour of flying time. He had been monitoring his radar scope as his and eleven other fighters of the High Spades squadron had been conducting CAPs over the northern side of the air corridor, making sure no hostile fighters penetrated into the inner ring and threatened the drop zone.

The squadron commander, Commander Marcus Periera, was at the controls of the fighter, who was letting the autopilot conserve fuel at a comfortable 250 indicated knots, flying racetracks about the front.

Jenning's doldrums were interrupted by a priority call.

"Handaxe, this is Darkstar on priority. Immediate tasking. All Handaxe flights make best speed to BARCAP at bulls zero-six-six two-five-eight. You'll be replaced on station by Valkyrie. Break."

"What in the fuck?" Commander Periera cursed over the intercom. "Valkyrie's the Wasp reserve flight. What the fuck is going on up there?"

"Expect possible fighter contact and picture update when you hit your orbits. ROE same. Acknowledge."

The Commander stuck a thumb up from the front cockpit, and that was all Jenning needed.

"Darkstar, this is Handaxe lead. We acknowledge. BARCAP bulls zero six six two five eight, expect update."

"Handaxe, Darkstar, good readback. Out."

Periera passed the message to his wingmen first with a wave of his hand- 'follow me', and he transmitted it over the squadron's net soon after. The northern flights of Super Lynxes, twelve aircraft in all, broke station and made their way to the point, which sat about 220 miles south of the unknown carrier group's jamming ring, a position that would put them within their own AWAC's radar coverage, well outside the hostile jamming area, and directly in the way of any aircraft attempting to close with their own carrier group. The datalink pictures of the fighters was already on the radar displays of the Super Lynxes as they arrived and set up orbit in a stationary racetrack barrier air patrol pattern. There was plenty of berth given from both their carrier and the enemy carrier.

It was now a game of chicken. Darkstar might attempt to give warning first, but the onus was now on the unknown contacts.

by **Lesbias** » Tue Jan 24, 2023 2:36 am

LNVS R-28 Reconnaissance Aircraft
Altitude - 11,500 Meters / 38,000 Feet
63 Kilometers / 30 Miles Directly South of Bosterham

Yoana Lazarov was thankful she didn't get the Coleshead route, the way the planes creaked when they turned always unnerved her. So when she was given a mostly straight route she was relieved. She noted Bosterham in the distance, it was impossible to tell the state of the city from this distance and altitiude. She would likely have to drop down to take photos if she wanted the photos to actually capture anything of importance.

One thing Lazarov appreaciated about flying alone was the quiet, it always seemed etherally peaceful. This calmness was rudely interupted as noise came through her intercom.

"We have received word that the Meridon Defence Forces are conducting blocking off all air traffic on the Southwestern Highway Spur off Bosterham, proceed with caution. Over.

"You still want me to go ahead?"

"You're an unarnmed reconnaissance plane and you're on the Southern highway, we also have no evidence they'll be attacking the city itself or it's airport. You'll be fine so long as you stay safe.

"Do you know if they have any anti-aircraft?"

"If we knew that we wouldn't need to be sending you there. Is there anything else?"

Yarazov hesitaed for a few seconds, before responding "No that's all, over."

"Well fuck," was her first thought after finishing the conversation. She now had to swoop low for photos as a foreign aircraft in a city where another fully armed nation was reight next door. Great, wonderful, cool cool cool cool cool. She took a few deep breaths in, perhaps in a futile attempt, to calm herself, didn't work. She thought of what she would do when she got back, food would be nice. If- no no when she got back she would have something to eat.

"I swear to god as soon as I can I'm fucking quitting the millitary." With that emotion out of the way and with jittery nerves, she began her descent to Bosterham.

[hr]

LNVS R-28 Reconnaissance Aircraft
Altitude - 6,400 Meters / 21,000 Feet
8 Kilometers / 5 Miles from Coleshead

Gintautas Kavalyow smilied to himself, the flight had been calm for now. No other nation trying to shoot him out of the sky, which was a benefit, but the flight had overall just been smooth. Kavalyow wondered why, but he wasn't one to tempt fate, afterall, it was probably just a bought of good luck.

He began to encroach the port, snapped a few photos, seemed to be empty, at least he thought it did; it was hard to tell from this high up in the sky. Kavalyow then moved towards the airport, the plane letting out a creaking noise as it turned. The large mass of steel attempting to make a turn, he saw the airport, took some photos. This cycle repeated a few times thoughout the duration of his flight over the city, nothing. Maybe he wasn't spotted at all, maybe he was and they just didn't care enough.

Either way, Kavalyow was satisfied, the mission was easy, it was safe, and he wasn't dead. All in all he considred, a net positive. As he turned around the large plane to head back to the Svoboda, he wondered if his comrade in the north was having as easy a mission as his. He hoped they were at least.

by **New Antarcticania** » Tue Jan 24, 2023 7:17 pm

'HUSSAR' Flight.
17th Naval Fighter Squadron.
4th Naval Air Arm.
APS Omerta.

"Hussar lead, AWACS 'East'. Alfa-one has been evaluated as No-factor, mission complete. Standby."

"'East', Hussar lead, copy."

The major breathed a sigh of relief as he heard the order to stand down. Easing his throttle down to an more acceptable level as he punches in an order for the autopilot to slowly orbit. As the rest of Illich's flight follows suit.

However, the peace doesn't last for long. As the authoritative voice of the AWACS operator comes to life over his flight's net.

...

"Hussar lead, new picture; POPUP group of four.... no, Ten at Azimuth 212 relative to flight. At 350 miles, 35 thousand. Contact is HOT towards the Task Group, Mark as Park-1. Commit, over."

The Colonel watches as the datalink contact of the Slow and lumbering Kingfisher is replaced with an small row of fighter contacts seemingly speeding towards the Task Group's direction. Letting loose a sigh as the MFD to his left hand side begins to display an optimal course to intercept Handaxe lead.

"Buddy refuel and BARCAPs will be re-directed as needed, say if acknowledged."

"AWACS 'East', Hussar lead. 212 relative to flight, at 350 and closing. 35 thousand, turn and intercept, mark as Park-1. I copy."

"Hussar, 'East', Correct. Out."

Hearing his comms falling back to silence once more, the Major pushes his throttle back up once more. Relaying information back to his wingmen as he goes. Before gently banking towards the new contacts.

This story echoed true for the BARCAP flights -- a dozen aircraft in total. As they began to change course and intercept HANDAXE flight in fours.
With the AWACS to guide them via datalink, they shut down their radars.

All it takes is one shot.

....

Meanwhile....
AMLV Lagos.
Task Group NARWAL.

The Commodore watches as his wristwatch ticks closer and closer. Despite the notable disruptions in the skies above Altfordshire. He still has been given the go-ahead by his superiors to continue with the plan.

Slowly, Narwal's fleet of LHDs and frigates begin to slowly change course. Moving ahead of Narwal itself as it follows behind. And Flights of Jammers -- Similar of that of BORE flight -- slowly launch and shift forward to lay another shifting wall of jamming towards the Carrier group in the south.

Feeling the hull of the ship ever-so-slightly bank as they turn. The thousands of marines aboard these ships know one thing:
Their time is coming up soon.
The landing starts soon.

by **Weltkria** » Sun Jan 29, 2023 6:31 pm

MESSAGE - ADTG - 11-29-20 12:23AMT - AES256

WARNING ORDER

3RD INF DIV, I CORPS [ALFORDSHIRE]

MOBILIZE FOLLOWING UNITS - 22nd INFANTRY BRIG [MOUNTAIN], 8th INFANTRY BRIG [SOF], PREPARE FOR IMMEDIATE DEPLOYMENT TO ULAKI MOUNTAIN RANGE 

MESSAGE - ADTG - 11-30-20 12:55AMT - UNENCRYPTED

UAF 3RD SQDRN

ORDERS AS FOLLOWS - INTERCEPT UNKNOWN BOGEYS - AWACS INIT COMMS WITH MERIDIAN FORCES - MARKED AS "FRIENDLY", DO NOT FIRE.

Iladen, sometime in the future
II Corps, 3rd Armored

The platoon of tanks roared to life, joined by a number of helicopters and aircraft. It was a combined arms operation - they would push the invaders out, at all costs. Sergeant Nicolas Jones climbed into his tank as it silently warmed up, his gunner nodding as he got situated.

He had his orders - he was to push out the unknown forces with the armored fist of his tanks. Ulaki had to be defended from all forces - Alfordshirian or otherwise. It was a scuffed and disorganized response - sudden redeployments from the Kaxen Mountain Range, Miltia and State Guard units reporting a wave of enemy advances against Iladen- guerilla warfare, it was a mess. They only had two brigades of armor and mechanized infantry - against a force with air superiority, it might have been nothing.

Shaking away his doubts, he refocused on his objective. The silent humming of the tank filled his ears as a staticy voice filtered through his radio.

"All Sierra elements, push through. Air support will not be available for the next few hours - they're currently dealing with load of Alfordshirian Aircraft. Charlie-2 out."

The distant roars of MLRS units filled his ears as they slung guided munitions at far-away targets. Sighing, Sergeant Jones hoped for the best.

Bosterham AFB

"Organ Flight, clear for take-off."

The two fighters roared to life as they soared into sky, patching into the datalink of a AWACS.

"Jesus christ, lots of contacts out there."

"Yeah, well, 50-50 chance of us getting shot down in that furball. We have three or so squadrons standing by for immediate take-off if we do get shot-down, but the Alfordshirians are going to bite if we do that."

"Damn."

Aimed towards the distant humanitarian flights of the Meridonians, the AWACS fowarded multiple packets of relevant data - IFF codes, statements of intent and a slew of other information.

3FS / 2 FIGHTERS / ULAKI AF / RQ PERMISSION TO ESCORT FOR SAFETY /

/ BE ADVISED MULTIPLE ALFORDSHIRIAN FIGHTERS VECTORING TOWARDS BOSTERHAM /

"Here's hoping that works."

by **Legatia** » Sun Jan 29, 2023 7:32 pm

Meridon Defense Forces, Task Force Grandplains
Meridonian Navy
5 Carrier Task Group [5 CTG], 1 Naval Airborne Control Squadron [1 NACS] "Astrologers"
-
S2M2 Herald AEWC platform Northlight, climbing through 26,000ft

With the emerging probability of a need for high coordination between what was looking like almost the entire air wing, Baymark had shot off one of its two reserve AEWC aircraft to assist in battle management. With Heatwave brought northwest to support Northlight, and Sunspot brought northeast to assist in managing the ongoing confrontation to the fleet's north, Darkstar handed off operational control of the 4 flights of four ship aircraft currently covering the air corridor to Northlight, staffed with additional reserve controllers to better manage the battle than either of the two spare AEWC platforms who had only been intended for radar coverage. As Handaxe had made its way on station to their BARCAPs, Darkstar and Sunspot had moved to support them, taking position behind them a few hundred miles back only a few minutes from the edge of the fleet's own air defenses. That meant Northlight and Heatwave were now coordinating the battle over Alfordshire.

Northlight's operators, therefore, were the ones to get the relay from the Ulakian forces. Signals operators poured over the intelligence and worked into plugging it into the tactical displays and datalinks. Fighter aircraft would register this information in the minutes to follow as Heatwave made radar contact with the approaching fighters.

Securing encrypted communications with the fighters, Northlight's talker raised a hand to his headset.

"Fighters identifying as the 3rd Fighter Squadron, Ulaki Air Force, this is Meridonian Naval AEWC aircraft Northlight over secure frequency. Appreciate the relayed information, escort permission is granted. We'll be having a flight join up with you for the drop escort, but we are unable to support you over Bosterham at this time due to our rules of engagement. Please advise any other friendly forces your net to stay clear of the air corridor and make it easy on our cover flights. Continue contact on this network and expect further."

On their ingress, the two-ship flight of Ulaki fighters would be shadowed by a four-ship flight of sleek Super Lynxes, bristling with armaments, one aircraft forming up on the wing of each fighter, and the remaining two covering the rear of the formation. Together, they would watch through green lenses as the drop was conducted.

Meridon Defense Forces, Task Force Grandplains
Meridonian Army
4 Regiment Airborne, 24 Battalion Airborne Infantry
Bravo Company, 2nd Platoon
-
Drop Zone Champagne, Southwest of Bosterham

Lieutenant Robinson conducted her landing with as much grace was expected from a paratrooper. She had scuffed her knee when she hit the ground and rolled, and the wind had dragged her via her parachute for a few feet before she got the thing under control. Gazing skyward from the view of her dual-tube night vision goggles, she saw hundreds of other chutes descending along hers.

In the minutes it took for her to find members of her platoon and rally them, the word from the company commander was positive, at least as far as they were concerned. Their JTACs seemed stressed listening to the snippets they gleaned from their control frequencies, but on the ground, the going was good. The lack of contacts on the ground meant that the Wasp flights loaded for air support only had to burn holes in the sky, and resistance was minimal, if at all present.

Thus organized, 24 Batallion fired not a shot as it entered the airport it was tasked to defend. Preparatory work for follow-on reinforcements who would arrive in mere hours were quick. Defenses were established in the surrounding town and airfield emplacements, with MANPADs teams and the few antiaircraft vehicles they had brought in the first wave being dispersed and hidden behind cover. Reconnaissance units were sent to cover the major roadways in and out of the town, supplementing the two sections of Pathfinder teams that were already on that task. Antitank teams blocked the approaches to the airport and rifle squads erected hasty defensive positions as the zone was secured and civilians were escorted from it as peaceably as possible. Robinson found herself speaking to the airport manager in this role while her platoon's rifle teams used his keys to establish positions on the terminal's roof. Any dissent was shooed off with a shout at best and the butt of a rifle at worst.

Their primary objective was complete.

Meridon Defense Forces, Task Force Grandplains
Meridonian Navy
5 Carrier Task Group [5 CTG], 82 Naval Fighter Squadron [82 NFS] "Longswords"
Baneblade 2 Lead/2-1,F5M7 Lynx
-
Flight of 4, 35,000 ft above Alfordshire

While Meridonian AEWC had been monitoring the military flight from Lesbias as it ingressed, they had not seen a need to intercept it as it avoided the corridors established and conducted a mission over or near Bosterham. On the return trip, however, this was not the case, and the control aircraft forwarded the information to the on-station CAP flights.

"Baneblade 2, Northlight- picture update, single target, bulls three-zero-two, six-five miles, angels 38, hot bogey, likely military midsize aircraft."

Baneblade 2,one of these four four-ship CAP flights protecting the air corridor, were directed to a radar target on their scopes.

"Northlight, Baneblade 2, commit."

Baneblade 2's flight lead signaled to his wingmen to form up as they departed their CAP holds, the target prioritized on their tactical displays but not yet illuminated by the unmistakable light of their targeting radars. An unescorted aircraft of this type would be dead within seconds should they engage it, but 2's flight leader was going to be careful should he need to physically intercept the aircraft, which could be armed. Their ROE prohibited them from firing first unless it breached one of the protective corridors after warning, and they would attempt to physically intercept the aircraft before that was the case if at all possible.

One of his wingman radioed in. He had visually acquired the aircraft using the Lynx's targeting camera about 40 miles out, and had confirmed its type. A reconnaissance aircraft, old by the looks of it.

"Northlight, Baneblade Two. Tally ho, zero-two-five for thirty four, thirty eight thousand hot. Declare."

The response was quick. "Baneblade Two, Northlight, one ship your BRAA zero-two-five for thirty three, thirty eight thousand, bogey."

Baneblade Two passed his commit call, and Northlight passed a message to the aircraft over a universal guard frequency.

"Unidentified military aircraft approaching the Bosterham Spur Air Corridor, this is the Meridonian Navy on guard. You are approaching protected airspace and are being intercepted by armed air interceptors. Alter your course immediately to circumvent the restricted area. If you do not comply, you may be fired upon. This is your only warning."

"Let's hope he gets the message. Baneblade flight, lock him up."

To make sure the message got home, all four of the fighters locked their targeting radars on the aircraft, which sat at about 20 miles and closing. The flights weren't eager to shoot anyone unnecessary down, but the recon aircraft was coming dangerously close to the protection line.

Meridon Defense Forces, Task Group Grandplains
Meridonian Navy
5 Carrier Task Group [5 CTG], 10 Naval Fighter Squadron [10 NFS], "High Spades"
Handaxe Lead/1-1, F5M6 Lynx
-
BARCAP station, 200nm north of 5 CTG

With the BARCAP established, the twelve Super Lynxes maintained their east-to-west legged racetracks, watching cautiously. The pilots were tense. Their first real combat- the first real air-to-air combat in years was at their doorstep. For their sake, Periera prayed that they wouldn't press further.

His prayers were not answered.

"99, Darkstar. Picture update, northern tracks re-evaluted, bandit. ROE remains weapons tight. Handaxe, Darkstar, picture update. Twelve-ship bulls zero-three-three for two-five-five, angels thirty five, HOT bandit."

"Handaxe, comitting." Periera didn't wait for his RIO to call it, cueing up the radio and transmitting.

"Squadron, combat spread. Master arm on and energize."

The tight-formed squadron complied immediately. Starting with the fourth man, they banked sharply right and climbed in thousand foot intervals, putting a mile between them and the next closest aircraft in the formation. RIOs in the back seat flipped the switches to activate their radars. The signatures, while not having locked the closing Antarticanian fighters, would be immediately detected and sorted as fighter-type by them, letting them know they were present. The powerful AESA radars immediately detected and sorted the contacts for the Meridonians. With radar contact established, Periera contacted Darkstar again.

"Darkstar, Handaxe, radar contact, twelve ship, BRAA three-four-six for one hundred ninety, thirty five hundred. Declare." Positive contact on his targets.

"Handaxe, Darkstar. 12 ship BRAA three-four-six, one hundred eighty seven, thirty five hundred, bandit."

"Darkstar, Handaxe, targeting."

Periera flicked the switch to enable his armaments as the aircraft's weapons systems were readied. Each fighter carried 8 MUA-120C CAIMS radar-guided missiles and another 2 heat-seeking MUA-9 Anaconda heatseekers- Periera selected the CAIMS, with the indicator "CMC 8" appearing on his HUD. The approaching fighters were not locked or targeted yet. Periera breathed, glancing to his shaky throttle hand. He hoped God had still heard him.

"Come on, assholes. You want to die today?"

-

Darkstar would elect for one final throw of the die to avoid a shooting war before the flights closed within their respective weapons engagement zones. Over guard on the same frequency Northlight had transmitted to the Lesbiasi aircraft, a similar call came out.

"Fighter aircraft one hundred and twenty miles south of the Bosterham Spur Air Corridor, this is the Meridonian Navy on guard. You are approaching restricted airspace over Meridonian Navy vessels. We do not, I say again, do not intend to engage your forces provided that established restricted areas over our fleet and the air corridor are respected. Be advised if you continue to maneuver aggressively towards our forces by continuing south you may be engaged. "

A hushed and tense silence fell over every lip in the know across the fleet. Periera watched the closure rate decrease. He thought a moment to pray, but decided not to- he knew by now God had made his choice.

by **Stalwart Socialist Republics of Briganti** » Thu Feb 09, 2023 10:39 am

Taskforce Tarian

The Nuclear attacks and immediate disintegration of the state had taken the Brigantine higherups by surprise. However recognising the Humanitarian disaster and the perilous situation of certain interest groups, namely the Workers Confederation and Student Movement, it was rapidly decided that a task force would be sent to offer assistance. On the face of it this would be to render aid to those affected by the nuclear bombings, the ulterior motive was to secure an allied government in friendly nation with governance based on similar principles to their own.
In about a week Taskforce Tarian (Shield) had been assembled and had set sail. This heavy formation consisted of a mechanised division, medical and engineering detachments as well as naval squadron of around half a dozen ships. It had been decided that any announced involvement would be delayed until the taskforce would be ready to land. The reason for this being twofold; 1. It would allow for maximum surprise ( although satellite imaging and other forms of detection would reveal the ships their true intentions would remain unknown), 2. It would give the taskforce greater flexibility to any changes on the ground and not tie the Brigantine SSR down politically until the final hours.
The time however was quickly approaching...

Operation Wyvern
80th Naval Squadron
BPN Ffyrnig
Taskforce Headquarters
2230

"Are we ready?" Commodore Allweddi asked one of his adjutants. The convoy had been steaming full speed for a few weeks now and had maneuvered itself into an ideal position of the eastern coast of Alfordshire. Within a few hours of the word to go Naval Infantry would be able to land and secure a bridgehead and within a full 2 days the rest of the Taskforce would've disembarked.
"All vessels are in position Iago." Replied his second in command Captain Hughes.
"Everyone is to be raised the highest levels of readiness and the 23rd Naval Assault Squadron is to be fully embarked and ready to set off by 0400, Uwch-Capten Kelleher I'll let you handle that." he said turning to the 23rd's Commanding Officer.
"Yes, Sir!" she braced up and left the planning room.
The Commodore turned to another Staff Officer "Let Congress know we're ready to proceed and then contact nearby forces and let them know of our presence and intentions."

Broadcast on all channels

TO ALL FORCES IN THE VICINITY OF ALFORDSHIRE!
THE BRIGANTINE STALWART SOCIALIST REPUBLICS HEARBY RECOGNISES AND AFFIRMS THE SOVERIGNTY OF THE WORKERS CONFEDERATION OF ALFORDSHIRE
AS OF NOW THE WCA WILL BE PROTECTED BY THE PEOPLE'S ARMED FORCES OF THE BRIGANTINE SSR 
ANY ASSAULTS AGAINST THE WCA OR BRIGANTINE FORCES WILL BE MET IN KIND
YIELD TO NONE

Waiting at the Block Start
BPN Banshee
Loading Bay
0330

The Hwsars had been first paraded by their crews, oil levels checked and topped up, nuts and bolts tightened, radios turned on and encrypted, the kit of the Naval Infantry had been loaded on and finally they were filled with their ammunition. The situation was the same in the other landing craft. All they need now was confirmation and they'd be on their way. The sailors had fully prepped their ships around midnight and were ready to launch. The Riflewomen were dotted around their vehicles, most were milling behind their vehicles open doors some sat on the roof or in the turret hatches hoping to avoid the claustrophobic seats inside for as long as possible. Due to the lingering threat all had donned their stuffy charcoal-lined CBRN suits, respirators at the ready, most would certainly feel squeezed in their suits.
Uwch-Capten Kelleher watched over her girls. She had been in their position 10 years ago, albeit her landing had been somewhat more tropic and there was no nuclear dust. Alot had changed in 10 years, she'd married, had two children, divorced and most recently promoted. This placed her in charge of the Naval Assault Squadron as well as the Infantry Company and so she would be staying aboard the Banshee and commanding the landing operation from the rear. While some officers would be envious that the rest of the Company would be landing and setting off without them she wasn't. Although still fit, lugging around 30kg of kit tended to be a pain in the back and knees for those in their 30's like her. The only thing that annoyed her was that a few days ago one of her Hwsar commanders had been replaced by a forward observer from a different unit. This wouldn't haven been an issue if it weren't for the fact that it had A) been a man and B) unapproachably aloof.
Is-Capten Aidhan felt like he was being watched, he glanced over his shoulder and saw Kelleher glaring at him from a walkway and carried on walking towards his Hwsar. With the rest of the gear he brought with him he had a laser target designator and a list of frequencies for the various units that would be providing firesupport should the need arise. At the age of 24 he felt he was somewhat lagging behind his peers. After washing out of Naval Special Forces training he had been willing to take anything he got, and what he got was a job as a Forward Observer. It was his role to coordinate all artillery fires and ground attack assets. He had no friends to speak of and didn't care to make any keeping up a cold stoic demeanour.
As he strode towards his Hwsar none of its dismounts pay him any attention and continued chatting, no one had any headdress on so no one bothered with salutes. He climbed atop the Hwsar, 01C 'Anarchydd' and dumped his gear in the turret and jumped in the seat commanders seat. He began going over the map of the area he had as well as his notes. Normally he'd have some helpers with him but all he had was a riflewoman who had been given some extra signals training. She would sit next to him in the turret and assist in sending and receiving messages over the net.
The dismounts for his vehicle was a squad of 7. The only two of any real note in his mind were the two machinegunners, Guardswomen Coedyd and Gwal. Coedyd was a somewhat rural girl standing at 6'1 and was a bordering on being overweight, Gwal was the opposite nearly a foot shorter and built rather athletically as well as hailing from the capital like Aidhan. Both had shown some levels of initiative over the past few days which is more than can be said for the rest of the squad which seemed rather mopey and not at all interested in the task at hand. Not of the standard he was used to but only time would tell how his crew would perform. There was still another 30 minutes before he'd be issued orders for the day.

Overhead a flight of YR-95s screamed past, providing top cover for this small armada. Below on the Ffyrnig ground crews were loading other aircraft with strike packages for the landing, various assortments of missiles, bombs, thermobarics and targeting pods. Other formations had begun to service their vehicles. One of the container ships had been turned into a makeshift helicopter carrier from which Sappers of the 82nd Battalion would act as immediate reinforcements to the Naval Infantry. The whole task force was coiled and ready to fire off like a sprinter at the starting blocks...

by **New Antarcticania** » Mon Feb 20, 2023 7:21 pm

"'East', 'Hussar' Lead. Group ID Park-1 is flashing IFF as Meridonian Defense Forces. Request re-"

"Hussar Flight. Re-direct at 354 for RTB at Home plate. Buddy Refuel and BARCAPS will be available as fragged, knock it off."

'HUSSAR' Flight.
17th Naval Fighter Squadron.
4th Naval Air Arm.
APS Omerta.

With a new set of steer points freshly uploaded to his HDD by Data-link. Illich, as the first man in his flight. Gently banked and turned his MiG back towards the north.

He watched his RWR emit a flat, loud tone every time the Wasps swept their aircraft. Gripping his Centre stick in anticipation for the RWR to yell out the warning of an enemy spike.

A warning that never came.

....

Some hours later...
Aft Flight Deck, APS Salvador.
TG-Narwal.

Two men stand in the aft deck of the Salvador under the miserable heat of the Pacific sun.

The look up, seeing the navy-grey coloured silhouette of the Salvador's Ka-28M on their horizon, their rotors slowly churning towards them.

Along with the two deck officers on watch, stands a group of four behind them, lined neatly in one straight rank. Wearing dress uniforms and Bearing
ceremonial rifles, they stand, motionless, silent. The wind pelting burst after burst of wind at their uniforms.

After an agonizingly long wait, the helicopter finally makes contact with the deck. One of the deck officers approach the helicopter, it's engines and rotors dying down in a slow, shrill, whine.

He opens the door, and immediately shoots the passenger aboard a sharp salute.

Rear Admiral Jordi Calvo exits the helicopter, which was totally unfit to carry an officer of his rank. Nevertheless, he shook the hands of the pilots and crew that stood by him.
Before quickly accepting the salute of the honor guard before him, an merely ceremonial gesture, as everyone aboard the Salvador know their task, having been informed of it several hours prior.

.....

Captain Vasiliy Sorokin stands in the Salvador's CIC. He counts down the seconds with his sliver-painted wristwatch. As the admiral stand by him, belting order after order at the bridge in preparation for maneuvers.

As his watch finally ticks to the hour, the Captain looks back up and issues the order.

"Helm, turn bearing 098."
"098, aye, sir."

The Salvador banks south-east at an angle sufficient to stay well clear of the Meridonian fleet to their south.

They head towards the Altfordshirian fleet.

by **Legatia** » Mon Mar 13, 2023 3:16 pm

Meridon Defense Forces, Task Group Grandplains
Meridonian Navy
5 Carrier Task Group [5 CTG], 10 Naval Fighter Squadron [10 NFS], "High Spades"
Handaxe Lead/1-1, F5M6 Lynx
-
Northbound on intercept course

Lieutenant Jennings stared at the contacts coming closer on his TID, the vectors blinking as the missile systems aboard the twelve Lynxes sorted the contacts for engagement. Periera had had enough of the waiting, and cued his radio, not waiting for the Antarticanians to show their fangs first.

"Flight sort, two missiles each target, left crank to skate, launch at thirty five-"

Just then, the tracks diverged. The velocity vectors, once pointed at them like a wall of spears, diverged as the enemy contacts broke off. Jenning's voice cracked as he practically cried through the intercom.

"Hold it, they're breaking off! They're- they're breaking off! No launches, we aren't.. they're-"

"-Belay that. Flight, ABORT. Out south cold." Periera could be heard exhaling over frequency as the twelve-ship flight banked left and right southbound. Jennings slumped back in his seat as the aircraft reformed southbound in a cruise form. He could hear the click of the master arm switch up front being toggled off.

"Darkstar, Handaxe is aborting. Contacts are off north, we're coming back to the BARCAP station. Guess they got the message."

There was a notable pause as Darkstar waited to contact them. No doubt the entire fleet had just exhaled.

"Handaxe, Darkstar, Valkyrie will be replacing you on the CAP. Contact Red Crown button 12 for marshal."

"Handaxe."

Periera brought his hand up and began to signal the flights in cruise to form up, as the flights began their trek home. Every pilot in the flight, though they would not admit it once they landed back aboard Baymark, had sweaty hands and terrible formations on the way back. Normally, as the squadron officer commanding, it would be Periera's job to scold them. But not today. A round of cold sodas would be passed around the flight crews, with the promise for a proper drink later sufficing. The 24 men of 10 NFS knew they had a long day ahead of them still.

But for now, they celebrated.

Meridon Defense Forces, Task Force Grandplains
Meridonian Army
4 Regiment Airborne
-
Field Expeditionary Base Alexia

Sat at the approach end of the runway was a squad-sized element of special operations troops. Terminal attack controllers from 4 RA, reconnaissance operators from the Pathfinders, and Air Forces Combat Controller Teams sat beneath a camouflaged netting erected to monitor the inbound approaches of a number. Littered over pilfered folding tables and crates of supplies was a motley of expensive radio equipment. A Meridonian flag had been pitched just to the side of the field as a makeshift windsock as the controllers stared through green-hued lenses at the first of a veritable wave of aircraft.

About a thousand feet down the runway and closer to the terminal, a separate team of controllers was busy establishing a weather monitoring station. They were expecting to have proper weather data within the next thirty minutes.

Their first aircraft was the heavier of two aircraft types expected to conduct landings- this one was the jet-engined C12M Kalua, who was flying an approach into the darkened field. While the runway gave two thousand extra feet to the minimum required to operate Kaluas, the lack of proper runway lighting made the approach rough on the pilots, whose only reference marks to the ground were IR strobes and the guidance of the controllers on the ground.

Circling abovehead a few dozen thousand feet higher and a few miles offset were the larger Atlas transports, who were conducting airdrops of everything 4 RA owned that was air-droppable, including two other battalions of paratroopers. With the fighter threat north driven off, the continuous CAP presence abovehead kept the swarm of transport aircraft safe as the entire strength of the regiment was delivered onto the spur.

"Gypsy 21, you're visual, you're one point eight out, little low. Keep it coming. Wind is 030 at 12, cleared to land."

The Spur's airport was only chosen because of its runway length. Its taxiways were designed for hobby aircraft that ofttimes weighed less than an average car, certainly not for round-the-clock operations of aircraft that could outweigh a house. Airlifters like these were known for their capacity to operate on worse fields, however- this one would have to do.

The 12 wheels of the Kalua's landing gear made a firm impact with the asphalt less than a minute later, the jetwash blowing a hat off of one of the controllers who strayed too far from the tarp. Powerful reverse thrusters and spoilers rapidly slowed the aircraft to a stop in just over a thousand feet of runway. The ramp had been thrown open before the aircraft came to a full stop, and from the ramp was offloaded a set of utility vehicles- a pair of forklifts, two MANN GX2 medium utility trucks, and a singular GX4 MANN truck with it. The last vehicle had barely cleared the runway when the aircraft's engines spooled up again, reversing it right to the rear of the runway. A pulse of forward thrust and a tap of the breaks set it still, and within seconds the aircraft ran up again, its engines screaming as the ramp bay was closed, the solitary figure of a loadmaster walking back inside as the aircraft rolled down the runway and rotated back into the sky, towards the sun where the dawn was now breaking over the horizon. It had spent a total of 3 minutes on the ground from stop to rotation.

In the following hours, nearly two dozen of these cargo flights were conducted, offloading hundreds of tons of men and material on to the airfield. It took roughly 36 hours for the entire Regiment to be deployed, establishing their base of operations over the areas occupied by Drop Zone Champagne, and what was now being called 'Spur Field'. By fourty-eight, they were ready for follow-on operations.

-- 48 Hours after First Drop --

Meridon Defense Forces, Task Group Grandplains
Meridonian Navy
5 Carrier Task Group [5 CTG], 3 Naval Fighter Squadron [3 NFS], "Black Taipans"

-
3 NAVFITRON Ready Room, 03 Deck, MRS Baymark

The clock on the wall read 0452 hours.

Shuffling into the fluorescently-lit ready room of 3 NFS were a group of 8 aviators, uniformly donning green flight suits and bearing white coffee mugs, emblazoned with the black snake that was the logo of their squadron and their names. The life of a combat aviator didn't include regular sleep schedules, so in its place was caffeine.

Stood at the forward edge of the room behind a podium was a trio of senior officers, who would also be flying today. Behind them was a map of eastern Altfordshire, overlaid with symbology and markings, indecipherable to any but the pilots who would soon read them. The group of young men and a single woman took their marked seats- every seat in this room had an owner. Once the squadron commander was satisfied his aviators were situated, he took a sip of coffee. Commander by his shoulderboards and named "Jackson" as indicated by his nametape, the man's arms were tucked firmly into eachother as he cast a flat gaze across the room. Too bright for his liking this early in the morning, but he would never admit it.

"Break a leg, opso."

The thinner-looking officer to his left, a Lieutenant Commander by his shoulderboards, cleared his own throat and directed the attention of those gathered to the map.

"Good morning, everyone. Our missionset today is going to be an interesting one- forward reconnaissance. It's a four ship flight, we're keeping Hansen and his bird in reserve incase something goes wrong."

"Always us;" the pilot complained with his hands behind his head. His WSO, the woman in the room, ribbed him sharply, eliciting a groan of complaint that did shut him up.

"Ahem. The Lynxes're going to be running more CAPs on racetrack patterns along a line north from the spur towards Bosterham, 10 and 82 are giving two three-ships each. 90 will be running ground support standbys while the ground boys roll up the highway towards Bosterham. Civilian relief ops. They might run into some hair, the rest of us here in 3 are sitting on the alert jets. The carrier group from the snowmen went hunting somewhere south, they've been poking at it with patrol craft from home, but they're considered a minimal factor. A few other fleets are parked up and down the coast, yada yada. Let's talk route."

The LCDR's hand pointed to the marked map, highlighting an overlaid flightplan route - over Bosterham proper, and from there, west.

"Two sites are requiring recon. Bosterham, for obvious reasons, and inland towards Padsterwick. This isn't supposed to be a combat mission, so we'll be running a little light for weapons. 3 CAIMS, 2 Anacondas, 3 bags and a TP per jet. We've got a Backwave from 10 NEAS for radar jamming should we need it. Command wants photos, surveillance reports, wants to see how bad the situation on the ground is. Simple run, hopefully."

Another set of taps. Known MILCOM fighter bases were tapped, with their expected interception ranges highlighted on the map.

"The unknown factor- the government. We haven't declared for anyone yet, and we're only here to establish humanitarian aid- so far. We don't know if they'll take kindly to us overflying their territory, and we're banking on them being too busy to do otherwise. ROE is tight. If it gets frisky, we abort and fall back behind the CAP line, we'll have 12 fighters up already in place to cover us. If they launch, expect pretty modern fourth gens. Pretty even match."

"Any questions?"

One hour and thirteen minutes later, Brigand flight- a five-ship of four F6M2 Wasp and one E6M2 Backwave electronics warfare aircraft- were launched on their mission.

by **New Antarcticania** » Wed Mar 15, 2023 8:36 pm

AMLV Braga.
1st Coy, 25th/13th Marine Battalion.
Several Hours prior to landing.

"...One last thing."
Captain Mendez looks back up from the large map of Eastern Altfordshire sprawled over the table. As the Junta of Officers and NCOs under his leadership looks towards his attention.
He takes a moment of silence, before going on.

"I just got the word from battalion, which got the word from brigade. Yesterday, fleet tried to intercept an Maritime Patrol Aircraft that was trying to poke around in Narwal's airspace. The Task group sent a flight of MiGs their way, before a whole flight of fighters popped up on Their Radars."

Mendez stopped, turning to look at a hand raised among the crowd. Which he recongized to be First Platoon's Squad Leaders.

"Yes, Lieutenant?"

"Sir, if the Altfordshireans are lobbing fighters at us, what-"

"They weren't Altfordish, Lieutenant."

The inquiring Lieutenant and the rest of the Officers gathered froze. The captain returns to what he was saying.

"Long story short. We'll have to deal with the Meridonian Defense Forces fucking about south of our AO.

Now, we're not here to start a war in the Pacific. But, if push comes to shove...."

Garcia kneels over to the bottom of the table, before pulling out a cardboard box, labelled as an 90-pack of tinned onions, out into the dim light of the Braga's Troop Accomodations.

He heaves the box onto the table, towering over the maps and charts spread over it. Before motioning his Company's Platoon leads to come to the front.

"Take a stack, hand it down to your Squad Leaders and NCOs. Tell them to hand the Excess down into the squads afterwards."

The trio of Senior Lieutenants walk forward and excavate a stack of Pamphlets held together by two lines of heavy-duty rubber bands. As tall as their forearm.

One Lieutenant pulls out a copy from the stack....

PERSONNEL AND VEHICLE IDENTIFICATION (PAVI) BULLETIN

THE MERIDONIAN DEFENSE FORCES

He leafs through it, revealing picture after picture of Soldiers and equipment hailing from the Meridonian Military. Paratroopers, Marines, Helicopters, Fixed-Wing, Trucks, IFVs. The whole package.

He flips through the packages, feeling the warmth of the pages -- fresh off the printers.

....

Several Hours Later....

The Air war was on.
With the Agression shown by the Meridonian Fighters yesterday, The amount of MiGs probing south only increased.

The BARCAPS, previously restricted to Narwal's Airspace. Has extended, with flights of three flying Lemniscates at least 120 miles south of the Task group, with the occasional MiG loaded with Standoff jamming pods among them.

In addition, ASW flights from the Omerta's wing of Ka-27Ms can be seen sweeping through the areas just a little north of BARCAPs.

.....

While an Cold war rages above in the Air, Narwal's ships storm through the seas.

Feeling the need for expediency in landing their Marines. The Amphibious detachment of the Task Group -- which detached from the rest of their Fleet, steamed south-westwards. Towards the Altordish coast. With the Manaus, and the Belem -- The former a Destroyer, and the latter a Frigate -- Taking after them.

Flights of Ka-29TBs and Mi-24MNs, both loaded with AsUW loadouts, picket the small fleet's perimeter.

by **Lesbias** » Tue Apr 04, 2023 5:58 pm

LNVS R-28 Reconnaissance Aircraft
Altitude - 11,500 Meters / 38,000 Feet
64 Kilometers / 39 Miles Directly South of Bosterham

Lazarov barely had time to process what she was hearing, all she could remember was noise began to come over the radio. She just barely caught the last bit of of what the Meridonians were saying.

"...your course immediately to circumvent the restricted area. If you do not comply, you may be fired upon. This is your only warning."

Lazarov's mind began to speed, it felt as if it was moving over a million miles a minute, she could feel her legs shake and slowly lost strength. Panic began to set in, no, no time for that now. She took a breath in, if it was meant to calm her mind it didn't work. Nevertheless she began to speak into the intercom through the same frequency she received the same message in.

"This is a Lesbiasi reconnaissance aircraft, this aircraft is unarmed.

She took a small breath, Lazarov was trying her best not to stutter, her chest ached as she spoke.

Adjusting flight path to avoid air corridor, over."

Lazarov cringed as the plane creaked, turning as best it could to avoid the restricted zone.

LNF Svoboda - Aircraft Carrier
Somewhere of the Eastern Coast of Alfrodshire

Admiral Tomschik looked at the photos of Coleshend laid out upon the table before him, they showed that the Worker's Confederation was located in the city, which was beneficial since they learned Bosterham had been blocked off from them by the Meridonians. It also seemed no one else was heading there, making it a prime place to port drop off supplies, and establish consistent communication. He gave the order to move towards Coleshend, he also ordered the radio operators aboard to notify all the Lesbiasi ships (and the one pilot who hadn't made it back yet) of the route. He was lost in thought over, something he couldn't remember when his train of thought was interrupted by the radio operator who he assigned to notify the other ships.

"Sir? There's a message relating to Coleshend, I think you'd like to hear it."

"What does it say? Who is it from?"

"It's from the Brigantine S.S.R., they're heading to Coleshend as well to send support to the Worker's Confederation, same as us."

The admiral upon hearing this, smiled, he knew he was supposed to stay silent; but with this new information, would it not be better to reach out to a potential ally now rather than later? Their combined force could easily drive off any other forces. He decided that it was time to gamble.

"Send a radio message, let any other forces in the area know of our intentions and that any attack on us may be considered an act of war."

"Yes sir, understood"

Tomschik was really hoping this didn't backfire. However he had faith, fortune favours the bold after all, doesn't it?

>TO ALL FORCES WHOM IT MAY CONCERN NEAR ALFORDSHIRE
>THE PEOPLE'S REPUBLIC OF LESBIAS RECOGNISES THE WORKER'S CONFEDERATION AS THE GOVERNMENT OF ALFORDSHIRE
>THE P.R.L. IS TO PROVIDE AID AND ASSISTANCE TO THE WORKER'S CONFEDERATION
>THE P.R.L. DOES NOT SEEK TO ENGAGE IN MILITARY COMBAT WITH OTHER FORCES
>ANY ATTACK ON P.R.L. FORCES MAY BE CONSIDERED AN ACT OF WAR BY THE GOVERNMENT OF THE P.R.L.

by **Stalwart Socialist Republics of Briganti** » Wed Apr 05, 2023 6:38 pm

Landing In Coleshead
23rd Naval Assault Squadron
BPN Banshee
01C 'Anarchydd'

At 0720 the order to go was given. Coleshead, it had been decided, was the most optimal place for the Taskforce to disembark its troops. The city contained a harbour big enough to offload the vehicles with ease, the terrain in the surrounding areas was suitable to 4th Mechanised Divisions conduct and the areas on the coastline lended themselves quite well to the hovercraft. Logistically Coleshead was sound and it was far enough away from other intervening forces that it was unlikely to cause any great disturbance or upset among them.

Almost immediately Banshee roared into life, its turbines kicking up surf, and it began to depart at increasing speed. Dolffin, Sglefrwr and Hydref followed seconds later in quick succession. Intelligence reported that there would be no resistance on the crust but there may be some minor resistance in and around Coleshead itself from the remnants of its garrison, nothing that would stand up to the landing party. The four vessels fanned out into a line abreast formation as the ploughed towards the shore the red sun rising behind them on the horizon. The sky was clear of clouds and the day ahead looked promising.

Guardswoman Gwal sat in the back of her Hwsar with the rest of the squad. The engine hummed and the vehicle was rocked on its suspension as Banshee was buffeted by waves. It was warm and stuffy in the back troop compartment, some of the girls murmured to each other but it was mostly silent with the whole crew rather anxious as they went in. For all of them this was their first deployment out of training. Her machinegun was fitted to the firing port in front of her, a belt of full calibre rifle rounds fed in from the right swayed with each motion of the vehicle. Nothing could be seen out of the firing port in the low light of the loading bay. Time seemed to stand still.
Gradually and then suddenly the Banshee began to decelerate as it neared the shore. It got half way up the shoreline before doors opened and the vehicles began to pile out.
"DRIVER ADVANCE" Is-Capten Aidhan commanded over the intercom and the vehicle lurched forwards heavily as the driver took off the break and put their foot down at roughly the same time.
Anarchydd was the last off, emerging into the low light of the morning. Gwal sat up and shouldered the gun, her hands were cold and clammy and the gun felt comically large, she peered out on to the grey and yellow beach and began to take in the surroundings. They weren't to fire unless fired on. This had been mentioned in the brief the evening before and Aidhan and reminded them of it as they boarded earlier just moments earlier.

The Hwsars motored up the beach in formation, guns swivelling to and fro across their arcs, their tracks fighting against the sand until they bit into the soft mud. Once off the beach the Company pushed out a defensive perimeter as well as marking spots suitable for helicopter landing sites. Next it was the 82nd's turn, they were ferried in via helicopter not long after. Almost as soon as they were dropped off they began setting up and digging in, treelines and abandoned buildings were being turned into fortresses.
Capten Aiden looked and listened, his head out of the open hatch. Over the sound of rumbling engines and the chopping of rotor blades he could hear bird song. So far Alfordshire had seemed pretty lifeless with not a soul in sight, he went back to scanning his arcs.

80th Naval Squadron
BPN Ffyrnig
Taskforce Headquarters
"Commodore Sir! A message has come over the net from the People's Republic of Lesbias." The signaller, who'd come in from the radio room, carried on "They state that their intentions are to support the Worker's Confederation."
He handed the man a sheet of the transcript. Commodore Allweddi quickly scanned the paper.
"Has Congress been informed?" He asked looking up.
"No Sir."
"Pass the message on to them, then I want you to reply to the PRL taskforce. Let them know we appreciate their intentions and look forward to future cooperation, thats all"
"Yes Sir."
The Signals Officer saluted and left the room. Nice to know we have friends in these parts Allweddi thought to himself before returning to the task at hand of off loading the land component of the Task Force onto the shore and setting up the main based of operations. He was aware of the danger of have all the ships bunched up in an ostensibly static state where they were essentially sitting ducks. The sooner the Army were off his vessels the sooner responsibility for the taskforce could be palmed off to the Land Commander and he could get his ships back into the open sea.

by **Stalwart Socialist Republics of Briganti** » Sun Apr 23, 2023 11:08 am

23rd Naval Assault Squadron
1st Guard Naval Infantry Company 'Llewod Môr'
1120 Hours
First Blood
It had been an uneventful morning thus far for the 1st Guards Company however one of the 82nd's platoons had made a contact report of Alfordian forces moving towards them and had been advised to go to ground and wait out. Soon the Guards Company was informed that they would be moving up to the location of the platoon with the intention of taking over the location and monitoring the potential opfor.
After a quick radio check the Company formed up and moved off down the dirt trail to the location. The journey wasn't far, only 3 miles, and as they went the column kicked up large clouds of dust into the air like smoke.
Not long after they set off the infantry platoon came over the net.

"Hello 01A this is 33A, were receiving mortar and small arms fire from our north and have spot infantry moving north to south on our eastern flank. Roger so far over"

The CO of 1st Guards Coy, Capten Owsley, fired quickly over net

"Hello 33A this is 01A, roger so far over"

"Estimated enemy strength two times infantry company, intentions fight a delaying action until we can withdraw under covering fire of 1st Guards Company over"

"Hello 33A this is 01A, roger heading over now we'll arrive in 5 minutes out"

A quick look at the position of the Sapper platoon on the map showed they were pinned in a woodblock. Infront and to their north was open ground, over which they were being assaulted, behind them was two hills with a saddle over which the 1st Guards Company would arrive. The ground ahead would obstruct the view of the arriving Guards and relatively exposed nature of the hills forbid disengagement as the platoon would be cut down in the open ground by their pursuers. There only hope would be for their rescuers to arrive.

3rd Platoon, 3rd Company of the 82nd had been sent out to this woodblock as a picket after arriving at around 0840 that morning. The forty Sappers had just just completed their foxhole and had setup some directional mines when they'd sighted enemy movement. Lt Giliau had radioed in the sighting report at 1121 but soon after the Alfordian troops began a mortar barrage followed by an assault by light infantry. Using the covering fire of the mortars and smoke they began edging towards the platoons position. They also had direct firesupport in the form of a few MRAPs armed with HMGs.
The fighting positions offered some respite from the exploding mortar bombs landing in their positions but to get up and move would be suicidal. The sappers valiantly returned fire inflicting some casualties but it was clear they were loosing the fight. One group of Alfordians supported by a .50cal armed MRAP was less than 200m from the woodblock. Giliau watched as one of his men aimed their LGG launcher at it. There was a whoosh and the projectile hurtled at the MRAP. It slammed into the engine block, the hood was blown clean off and the vehicle turned into a fireball. Those stood near it crumpled. The rocketeer however was hit soon after falling wounded into his foxhole.
If the Guards weren't here soon they were going to be wiped out.

As 1st Guards Naval Infantry drew closer they began could hear the faint sounds of battle over the roar of engines and tracks.

"Hello all callsigns this is 01A prepare to assume arrowhead formation over"

The Company tore towards the sappers position. The first vehicle in the formation, 01B 'Pŵer Merch', crested the end of the road leading out of the valley. In seconds the gunner had picked up some Alfordian infantry on the thermals and began to rake them with fire from the coax.

"This is 01B contact infantry approximately 500m to our front engaging with coax and main over"

By now more Hwsars had crested the and had also began to open fire on the infantry.

"01B this is 01A roger on your last, all callsigns assume arrowhead move now over"

The Company swung into action and charged towards the Alfordians, the net soon became incredibly chaotic with various . Capten Owsley ordered the company to form a ring of steel around the sappers, as she did this her gunner engaged a Alfordian squad that was attempting to take cover. The cannister round from the main gun pulverised them leaving a red mist in the air where they had once been. The Alfordian troops immediately began to try and disengage, smoke grenades were thrown and now their mortars began to start up again dropping smoke infront of the wood block.
Gwal in 01C was bounced around in the back of her Hwsar, the Capten and gunner were preparing an airstrike. She peered out and spotted a fleeing Alfordian, she aimed and squeezed off a burst the vehicle violently rocked as she did throwing tracer rounds into the dirt short of her target. The vehicle lurched to a halt and she tried again and watched as a burst of green tracers cut through the man's back and he fell.

Is-Capten Aidhan called in an airstrike on what was believe to be the location of the enemies mortars. After going over the positions of the nearest friendlies and confirming the grids a pair of YR-95's dropped four guided thermobaric bombs with a third aircraft flying above lasing the target. Aidhan and his gunner watched as the bombs landed in a row a few kilometres away in a treeline, four regular explosions followed by a much larger secondary that fire-balled up into the sky. Whatever was in those trees was gone now.

There was little the Alfordian Garrison troops could do against the armour. Some had fired AT launchers at the Hwsars with little effect other than to herald their own demise. An ATGM team had taken a flanking shot at 03A but the APS had taken down the missile and mutual callsigns had killed the crew shortly there after. Most of the survivors of the attack had disengaged and were now fleeing, sporadically harassed by coax fire from the IFV's.
One-hundred or more Alfordians lay dead or wounded infront of the sappers position with bits of gear strewn around the battlefield. Three MRAPs burned brightly and the former mortar position was now a plume of smoke in the distance its gunners vapourised. The ring of steel had been effective and had saved the sappers from doom. Brigantine casualties were relatively light. None of the Guards in their IFVs were injured but eleven of the sappers were wounded two quite seriously. One had lost most of his left arm and the other had a punctured lung, the others were walking wounded mostly with minor cuts and concussions.
They wounded were placed on top of the some of the Hwsars that then drove them to a first aid post before they were helicoptered back to one of the vessel still out at sea. The rest of the sappers withdrew back towards the coast and 2nd Platoon of the 1st Guards Company set up an overwatch position on some of the higher ground.

Logistical Warfare
The harbour of Coleshead was alive with action. All of the 82nd's vehicles were offloaded by the early afternoon and they soon would be riding around in heavy armour. Logistics personnel and sailors were hurriedly offloading supplies, material, men and machines at a steady pace. Engineers were constructing an airfield for the helicopters of the 37th Aviation Support Battalion to operate from. Gunners of the Anti-Aircraft Regiment had setup shop now the taskforce was protected from air attack by both Naval and Army assets.. In a day or two the taskforce would be fully operational and ready for the future ahead.

The Shattered Pearl [MT, IC, APP]

The Shattered Pearl [MT, IC, APP]

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