Chapter 32

 

THIRTY-TWO

Lieutenant Commander Bill Adkinson entered the squadron ready room on the OFS Barbet. The ready room normally was one of the more raucous locations on the ship, the ‘Paladins’ we’re known more for their less professional behavior off-duty than the Barbet’s CAG, Captain ‘Nonner’ Caggiano generally preferred. Today the energy in the room was different. For the past two weeks, the deck of the Barbet was frantic with a constant string of training sorties in and around the Chopinburg region of Usea. The men of the 7^th Carrier Air Wing we’re not unfamiliar with the region, every squadron had tasted combat in the waning days of the war and the paint was only just drying on many of the tallies that adorned their canopy rails of the kills they had scored. These missions however had been different. Unlike a standard Combat Air Patrol, the men were advised to retreat at the first challenge or hint of trouble. However, the ships intelligence officer’s refused to elaborate on what that trouble could be, just relying on the flight leader’s judgement.

 

It was gnawing at the end of each pilot’s psyche; rumors were spreading through the staterooms and berthing spaces on what was next. As a result, the energy in the ready room was electric, though the normally rowdy behavior of the pilots was subdued significantly.

 

At the head of the room stood the Squadron commander, Commander ‘TK’ Williamson who waited for the room to settle. He gave a signal to the Deputy Commander standing at the rear of the room to lower the lights and he began the briefing. On one wall was a Chart of the Chopinburg area the Air Wing had become intimately familiar with.

“Gentlemen” TK began. “I am happy to report that we will finally be given a combat mission to end this cruise off. The Admiral has given us the greenlight on Operation Catfish, as designated and designed by the CAG, myself and the other squadron commanders.”

“Is that why you’ve had us busting our ass this entire week?” spoke up one of the Pilots.

“Indeed, it is. Starting at nineteen hundred Usea Central Meantime, fighters from the Seventh Air Wing will depart Northbound and into the Chopinburg region. Entering two holding points, Emily and Whitney, you will group up with Tanker Aircraft from the Air Defense Force. From here we will break off into individual sections. ‘Bait’, ‘Spear’ and ‘Hook’.” TK explained, pointing at two racetrack patterns that appeared a hundred miles inland.

“Hate to be on ‘Bait’ flight.” Remarked one of the Hornet pilots.

“We will get to that. Two aircraft from our squadron will make up ‘Bait’ flight and will enter our Killbox 2-Bravo at initial Point Mercedes. From there they will fly a standard patrol pattern, with steer points of avenger, bearcat, corsair, dauntless, emil, and exiting the killbox with a heading of 180 at point fireball.” As TK spoke, a series of dots appeared on screen with the associated names. Bill could see it was laid out in a sloppy search pattern. They would be seen, but likely wouldn’t find anything.

 

“We expect our ‘Bait’ flight to be engaged around point dauntless, from there, on the order of the AEW aircraft, Spear and Hook will engage and take out what ever bandits are stupid enough to show up.”

“What are we expecting?” chimed in one pilot.

TK paused, “That’s the thing. We don’t know.”

There was an outcry of pilots in the room.

“What the hell do you mean you don’t know!?” shouted Bill. This time, one of the Barbet’s intelligence officers took the stage, Lieutenant Junior Grade Itami. He motioned for the room to quiet down. He stuck out like a sore thumb as the only person wearing his naval khaki uniform in a sea of olive drab Nomex flight suits.

“What Commander Williamson means is that this is a part of the mission. A ‘Reconnaissance-in-force’, if you will. What we are facing is entirely an unknown to us. Could be drones, could be some guy in a biplane whose been getting lucky. What we do know is that there is likely some electronic warfare at play, but we’re not leaving Bait, or any of the other flights out there with their asses exposed; Spear’s entire mission is to protect the Growler’s from VAQ-137. The Rooks will handle electronic countermeasures which should buy Bait enough time to egress, and the Tomcats and Hornets in Hook to bag whoever these assholes are.” Itami said, placating most of the pilots.

“Ok, so what else is in the frag then?” spoke up another pilot.

***
Bill stepped onto the aircraft elevator. The flight deck was already chaotic with crews running around prepping aircraft for launch. A Sailor in a blue jacket looked over the two F/A-18E Hornets on the elevator briefly, and ran over to the control box, the Elevator lurched upwards, carrying the pilots, and jets up onto the deck. The trip up three decks to the flight deck took only seconds and gave Bill a sickening feeling in his stomach. He looked over to his wingman, Lieutenant ‘Devil’ Godfroy, to see if his feeling of malaise was shared.

 

The two men had been assigned to the ‘Bait’ flight. First pilots into the mission area and, as their name implied, would be used as a lure to draw out whoever was shooting down jets. Though Itami didn’t say, all the pilots on the ship were aware of the situation. Between Osea and the IUN nearly half a dozen jets had gone missing in the region, believed to have been shot down. After the recent attacks in Erusea, no one was sure if it was just splinter Radical elements that didn’t die with the rest of their organization or a third party entirely.  

 

Bill walked under the port side of the jet and pressed the ladder release under the fuselage faring, he clambered up the ladder and started to strap himself into the jet. As he was preparing himself, he could see a multi-colored swarm of deck crew descend on his jet. By the time he was ready to start his startup checklist, the plane captain, dressed in a brown jacket, had signaled to him that the deck crew was cleared and had moved onto other jets.

 

As Bill and Devil started their fighters, they we’re towed to the catapults forward of the ship. Already Tomcats from the Gunmen squadron we’re departing to take up a station above the Carrier Strike group as apart of ‘Sinker’ flight. Bill smirked as he heard the Tomcat pilots complaints when they stepped out to the jet. It reminded Bill that despite his lot in the operation, there was still worse missions to be had.

 

The Tomcats departed with a deafening roar, and like that, it had become Bait’s turn to depart. The Yellow vested aircraft handling officer motioned for where Bill and Devil needed to taxi, Bill taking the starboard catapult while Devil took the port side. Following the directors guidance, he had hooked up to the catapult with a click as the launch bar fell into place on the shuttle. The shooter gave him the thumbs up, to which Bill gave a brief salute and pushed the throttles into afterburner. Within seconds, Bill was forced back into his seat as the Barbet’s steam catapult engaged, with a rolling, the Hornet was accelerated within seconds to one hundred seventy knots, literally being thrown airborne and off the deck of the ship.

 

He was dedicated to the mission from this point forward.

***

“Paladin 3-2 crossing corsair.” Bill reported.

“Copy 3-2, Scope is clean” replied the Airborne Early Warning aircraft surveilling the two Hornets as they crossed through the airspace.

The mission had been going smoothly. The two F-18 Hornets were in a combat spread, Devil was a mile off his wing and a thousand feet above him. The two pilots were constantly checking their surroundings and internal sensors just looking for something, anything, that might indicate their target took the bait.

The E-2C Hawkeye’s radar officer had been unusually proactive with reporting activity around the Paladin’s jets. Unfortunately, the accuracy of the onboard radars was generally less than stellar, with targets only appearing for a fleeting minute until disappearing. The Only excitement the two having was a routinely scheduled airline flight blundering within a few miles of the operation’s airspace.

Nothing but us and the sky. Bill thought to himself.

 

They were crossing the dense jungles of inner Usea. It was a sharp contrast of the arid and lifeless landscape of the Artiglio Port region only a hundred miles before it. As Bill made his way over the canopies, he couldn’t help but wonder how many jets, just like his own, the Rain Forest had consumed.  Prior to the Ulysses landfall, there was a handful of military bases, many of which had been left abandoned following the impact and subsequent Erusean occupation. Striking images of Tomcats and Harriers, only left alone for half a decade, being entirely reclaimed in vines and vegetation in unrecognizable hangars and shelters.

 

“Bill, I have something on my scope.” Devil reported. Bill looked down to his Radar, for a moment he saw a target too.

“Yeah, I saw it too. Wolfman, did you see something?” Bill asked the Hawkeye, bearing the callsign of ‘Wolfman’.

“Negative Paladin, picture is clean from our vantage point.” The Radar Officer replied.

“Copy” Bill replied unsatisfied.

 

“Do I need to get my fangs out?” asked Devil.

Bill thought for a moment. “Keep an eye out but let’s wait ‘til we’re sure it’s not a friendly.”

Theoretically, the airspace was clear. However, Bill had heard multiple reports of blue-on-blue shootdowns in the war from relying on onboard IFF transponders. A rumor had even spread that had one gaff not occurred, then the war could have been ended months earlier when an Osean Viper shot down an incorrectly identified Osean Army Chinook. A dozen Osean Army, and Erusean conservatives were killed because of a mistake. Bill was not keen to be the one pulling the trigger on another just like it.  

 

Bill adjusted the radar. It was once again empty. He switched the MFD to the Situational Awareness display, and only saw the data linked targets of Devil, The Hummer’s, and other Carrier aircraft waiting outside the killbox.

Maybe they know it’s a trap? He questioned.

 

“Devil, do you have anything on your scope?”

“Negative, wasn’t able to track it.” Devil replied.

“Ok, just keep your head on a swivel. Don’t want to be surprised out there.”  

“Two.” Devil replied simply.

 

“Paladin 3-2, Wolfman, Pop Up group, zero-three-eight, forty miles closing.” The Radar officer reported.

“Copy. Confirm type?”

“Unknown, they just dropped off again, wasn’t able to get altitude, Speed was tracked at four hundred knots.” The Officer replied.

“So, a fighter then? How many?” Devil asked.

“Wish we knew Paladin 3-3, They just dropped off as soon as they came up.”

Bill did the math in his head. Whatever Wolfman had picked up, was within the Killbox. They were also only halfway to the expected engagement location of waypoint dauntless.

“Wolfman, are we free to engage?” Bill asked.

“Negative Paladin. Maintain present heading. Do not fire unless fired upon.”

Bill scowled. “Ok Devil, Set the table, we might have guests coming.” He ordered.

 

It was still as briefed. For once, it was Osea that was deciding when and where to engage these bastards. They would finally get some payback. Bill leaned forwards and switched his master arm switch to ARM. The HUD reflected the stores amount of his AIM-9 Sidewinders. Flipping his left MFD to the Stores page, he could see the status of the missiles on board, as well as the over four hundred rounds he had in reserve in the Hornet’s magazine for the cannon in the nose.

 

“Copy, ready to rock and roll when they arrive.” Devil replied. Bill could hear the excitement in the younger pilots voice.

 

“Wolfman, Paladin, Any more on that bogey?” Bill asked.

“Negative Paladin.”

 

Bill looked at the map, The Hornets were nearly in the middle of the sixteen hundred square mile airspace. At best speeds, any help would still be more than a minute away.

 

Bill monitored the sensors closely. Between the situational awareness display, the electronic warfare display, the radar and looking outside, he could feel it starting to get warm under his helmet.

 

At that closing speed, the bogey would be halfway there.

 

“Devil, you have anything?” Bill asked.

 

Nothing.

 

“Devil, do you read?” Bill interrogated again.

 

He was once again met with silence. Bill grinned. They had fallen into the trap.

One of the reasons Bill had been selected by Nonner and TK, seemed rather innocuous to the pilot, but now made perfect sense. At the Osean Naval Academy, as a Midshipmen, Bill had been one of the members of their amateur radio club. His Specialty being that of morse code operation. His skills in the convening years had atrophied, but he was still capable enough to use the heliograph aboard the ship, and especially the flashlight.

Two long flashes, a quick flash followed by a long flash. A quick flash, long flash and quick flash, and concluding with two long flashes.

QRM, the international code for interference.  

Bill looked out and waited for the reply.

Long flash, quick flash, two long flashes. Quick flash, three quick flashes. Y E S

 

Bill scanned outside the jet. He couldn’t trust anything but his eyes now.

A glint in his mirror caught his eye. Missile!

Bill rolled the jet over and pulled hard. The RWR had remained silent. Easing off the pull, he quickly leaned forward and cycled the power. It gave a familiar tone on startup but remained silent. Dick move.

 He pulled up and could see Devil had taken the hint and broke right. The contrail of a missile between the two Hornets.

Clock is running. Hopefully the immediate and seemingly erratic behavior of the jets, coupled with the loss of radio communication would be enough to send the cavalry. Bill hoped. Bill could see two black dots in the distance, closing on the flight.

Bingo.

Bill switched to his Sidewinders, instead of the familiar growl, he was met with the two-tone sound of a Master Caution. He glanced down to the Stores page open on his MFD.

 

FCS FAILURE.

 

The Fire Control computer onboard all Osean Jets controlled weapons employment and would help enable better missile tracking when used in conjunction with Electronic Warfare aircraft such as the Growlers. Now, it was the only thing standing between Bill and his remaining means of defense.

 

Bill growled as he pressed the button on the dashboard and reset the Master Arm Switch. He re-engaged his Sidewinders.

 

Two Tones.

 

“Fuck!” He yelled in frustration.

 

The enemy jets we’re seconds away.

 

He could see a plume of smoke jut out from the lead jet. Instinctively Bill and Devil went into a defensive split, Bill pulling right and Devil to the left. The Missile failed to track on either Hornet.

 

The SA screen was still blank. In his mirror Bill could see one of the bandits had turned to engage him while the second broke off to follow Devil. They we’re committed and falling further into the net that the Pilots had laid out for them. Bill used the high-alpha nature of the Hornet to his advantage pulling to all his might in a climbing turn. He strained against the G forces as the suit inflated and his own muscles struggled to keep the blood in his head. In his fading vision, he could see the smaller fighter keeping pace with him, but just out of any position to get a track on him. At 8 G’s Bill was positive not even the best missiles on the market could keep track.

 

It wasn’t briefed, But Bill was glad Devil was on the same page as he was. His wingman had pulled a similar stunt and now the four aircraft we’re careening for the same point.  Devil would get there first, Putting Bill in a perfect position for guns pass on the bandit. Bill kept jinking his fighter as he closed on Devil. With his thumb he selected the gun. The Onboard targeting computers were blind to the threat so he would have to eyeball it, but he still had the Maneuvering line.

 

Five Seconds.

 

Bill eased off on the back pressure and his eyesight returned. He could see Devil’s bright red tail and the bandit behind him. It was a smaller jet, By Bill’s guess, closer to the F-5 than anything.

 

Four

 

The Airspeed on Bill’s HUD read 650.

Maybe I will finally get a callsign for breaking the sound barrier? Bill thought to himself.

 

Three

 

The sun glinted off the windows of bandit in Bill’s mirror. He was lined up on the Hornet.

Try it asshole.

 

Two.

The bandits had eased off their approach. Something in the distance registered with Bill, but he couldn’t place what it was. Bill rested his finger on the trigger. Devil’s bandit was in a perfect position to be torn asunder by the twenty millimeter hate the M61 could provide.

 

One.

 

“Break right Now!” Shouted someone over the radio. It startled Bill hesitating only for a heartbeat, He complied, idling the throttle while jerking the stick hard over to the right and back to the stops. He grunted in pain as the G’s attempted to force the aging man through the seat. He caught a glimpse of something pass his canopy.

 

Four billowing contrails burst off from the south and bloomed in all directions. The bandits had screamed past both Bill and Devil and both Hornets we’re in the clear.

“Paladin, Wolfman, how copy?” The Airborne Early Warning aircraft shouted.

Devil was the first to reply, laughing. “Paladin copies all!”

Another voice chimed in. “Snake flight, break off and engage bandit one. Griffin has two.”

 

TK was heard on the radio next. “Bill, Devil, Reference one eight Zero and join up on us. Sorry for the close call there. Snake couldn’t keep the Phoenix’s under wraps.”

 

“Reference one eight Zero, Paladin 3-1” Bill replied.

High above Bill could make out the Tomcats of Snake squadron, their wings extended as they slowed down to engage Bill’s bandit. Bill turned his jet towards the south and kept his hand on the throttle.

 

“Bill I’m on your trail.” Devil informed.

Bill checked his weapons again; the page still showed the Fire Control System failure.

 

Four more Hornets passed above Bill and Devil.

“Griffin One, Fox Three!”

“Griffin Two, Fox Three.”

“Griffin Three, Fox Three.”

“Griffin Four, Fox Three!”

 

As the Pilots called out the attack, Bill watched as in succession, four missiles screamed from the wings of the Hornets. They reached out like fingers towards the bandit. Bill leaned over his chair to watch the small black fighter fly in a sloppy Jink. To his amazement however, The four AIM-120 AAMRAAM’s bloomed out and failed to track the haphazard jet.

 

“Attack failed, Enemy ECM Still active.” reported Griffin One.

“Keep Pressing the attack. If the theory is correct, a Saturation attack should overwhelm it.” Wolfman ordered.

 

A larger formation crossed the Horizon, at its heart, was two F/A-18G ‘Growlers’. Jets not dissimilar to Bill and Devil’s own but converted to fight with less conventional means then guns and Missiles. Flanking on each side was two regular F/A-18E Hornet’s from Paladin.

“Rook One, Music On.” The Lead Growler reported.

As Bill and Devil formed up on the rest of the Paladins, He watched the scene unfold.

 

The bandits were in disarray and flailing about the sky.

 

The first bandit he saw was the prey of the Tomcats of VF-14, the Snakes. Two of the Tomcats held above the sky and back, likely with any remaining AIM-54 Pheonix missiles ready for a chainsaw attack. Meanwhile two more Tomcats had gained up on the bandit and was actively toying with it. Any Movement the jet would make would be countered by a burst of cannon fire off its nose by the Tomcat. The enemy jet pilot was getting desperate, he nosed the jet over towards the canopy. Matching him move for move, the Tomcats pursued. No hard deck, designated by ROE or physics, would dissuade the Osean pilots on his tail.

 

This was a mission of vengeance for the pilots. They we’re tired of being left in the dark about the unknown enemy, and now they would get their pound of flesh.

 

“Snake three, Fox two!” Yelled one of the Tomcat pilots.

 

His sidewinder didn’t travel far before it detonated, the blast fragmenting steel rods within the missile in an expanding circle of death, shredding the fuselage of the bandit instantly, and igniting the stores and fuel onboard in an expanding cacophony of violence and death, disintegrating the aircraft as it plunged in a fireball, disappearing into the lush greenery below.

 

There was no ejection.

 

The Tomcats wings retracted as they picked up speed. Afterburner’s roared as they climbed to meet their brethren, adding another kill to the venerable name of the Tomcat.

 

 

The situation for the second Bandit had not faired any better.

The Griffins pursued their quarry in a less than direct manner. With the Electronic countermeasure advantage eliminated by the Growlers, the Bandit was running east. The Hornets followed but didn’t engage by design. Unlike the direct methods taken by the Snakes, Griffin’s Squadron commander, Commander ‘Tosa’ Zarzoza had his pilots guide the bandit to its death. The Bandit’s afterburner glowed as it tried to escape. The Hornets matched him. With one Hornet hanging back, the other three would run intercepts to goad the bandit into engaging. He was not taking the risks and maintained heading.

 

“Griffin one, Either Engage or let someone else take it.” Chastised Wolfman.

There was a long sigh on the radio. “Fine. Cupid, Slammer, disengage. Opie form up on me.” Ordered Tosa.

 

“Griffin Four, fox three.” Reported one of the Griffin pilots, Opie, unenthusiastically. In a rather unclimactic extent. The AIM-120 AAMRAAM pitbulled onto the target, the fragmentation caught a glancing blow on the rear of the bandit, sending it in a tailspin and spiraling into the jungle below, culminating in a final explosion as it impacted the ground.

 

There was a pause of radio traffic.

“All Aircraft. Scope is clear. Conduct battle-damage-assessments and report losses.” Ordered Wolfman.

 

Slowly, reports came in. “Sinker, 0 Kills, 0 Losses.” Reported the Tomcat Pilots of the Gunmen. They got long range seats to the fight, but their mission had been to babysit the fleet. Unglamorous but still important.

Next was the ‘Spear’ Flight, consisting of the four jets of Paladin, and two Growlers of VAQ-137, Rook.

“Spear, 0 Kills, 0 Losses. All Aircraft accounted for.” TK reported.

“Hook, Snake has taken 0 Losses, bagged one bandit!” Replied the Snakes squadron commander.

“Hook, Griffin has taken 0 losses, one enemy bandit neutralized.” Tosa reported.

 

Bill had looked over Devils jet and gave him a thumbs up. Devil had done the same for him.

Miraculously, despite being engaged first, neither jet had taken any damage from the enemy.

 

Bill keyed the radio. “Bait. 0 Kills, 0 losses, all aircraft present and accounted for.”

There was a cheer over the radio.

 

“All fights, take heading of one-eight-zero. Refuel with Arco and Shell and return to the boat.” Ordered Wolfman.

***
The Hangar deck was a flurry with crewmen. Pilots were congratulating each other on a mission well done, plane crews rushed around excitingly preparing the jets for their next sortie.

 

It had been a clear-cut victory, something sorely needed for the exhausted aircrews. The Pilots who had killed the enemy fighters had photos taken next to the freshly painted kill tallies on their jets. Intel was still not clear on who or what they had fought, but the Pilots of the Seventh Air Wing didn’t care. They had been the first to dictate the battle against them. That alone was a victory. Dominating the airspace was a cherry on the cake for them.

***

Bandogs eyes read the final lines of the report. He sighed and let out a thick cloud of smoke from his cigarette.

 

“When did Admiral Lovelady send this over?” Bandog asked David.

“Just got it on the data drop today. Its dated to yesterday.” David replied from the edge of the darkened room. Trying to avoid the secondhand smoke inhalation.

 “Ok, send him the funds agreed upon and see if he can’t get any of that SIGINT data from those RC-135’s they had snooping over the airspace. And if he claims otherwise remember whose sending his daughter to that pricey college upstate. Certainly, can’t afford that on his salary with that many ex-wives.” Bandog ordered. Lovelady, living true to his name, was one of the easiest Osean officers to squeeze intelligence from. Rarely did Bandog ever need internal Osean reports but having a Flag officer in his deck was not awful for business either.

David moved to exit the room, pausing at the door.

“Boss, if I may speak freely?” David asked.

“Go for it.”

“I thought you’d be happier reading about an Osean victory. Especially one against those jets all things considered.”

 

Bandog took a long drag off his cigarette and blew out the smoke.

 

“I’m not happy because this wasn’t a victory. Not by a long shot. Whatever these jets are, they still overwhelmed those jets fire controls, on top of regular ECM stuff we can only sometimes counter. The only reason any of those pilots made it out alive is because they outnumbered those jets eight to one. The Victories in the Erusea attack were still about six to one, Osean aircraft to those jets. It took most of a Carrier’s airwing to get them all back alive. That isn’t a victory, that’s just luck by numbers. Had those idiots they were fighting been more organized? We very well may have seen a blood bath.” Bandog explained.

 

“I see.” David replied slowly.

 

“I want any relevant SIGINT data those 135’s have. It might be the only chance we have to counter act what those jets put out.” Bandog reiterated.

“Should we pass any more upgrade requests along to Hughes?” David asked.

Bandog tapped his chin. “Not yet. I want to read those reports before we make any changes. Did Fick say when Trigger was going to be ready?”

 

“No updates yet sir. Last I heard he was still failing to figure out how to use a rifle properly.”

Bandog snorted. “Figures. God forbid those talents manifest in more than flying a jet and pissing people off. Tell Fick to get Sergeants Kyle and Morgan ready along with Trigger. I think its time for them all to go to school.”

 

“Understood sir.”