Chapter 43

 FORTY-THREE

The command center for the Osean Defense Force’s Usean Command, or USEACOM for short, was a large, yet unassuming building, tucked away on New Arrows Air Base in eastern Usea. It was here that Generals from the IUN’s Peace Keeping Force directed troop movements and collected intelligence to run the war effort on the continent. The excitement of the conflict however had quickly drawn down as the region cooled following the conclusion of the Osean-Erusean war, and what had been one of the most important headquarters assignments in the Osean Military had suddenly become one of the most mundane outside of a few small-scale border clashes between rapidly uncoordinated Erusean holdouts and Osean and Usean forces.

 

Usea itself was broken into five distinct sectors: That of Erusea, Southern, Central, Northern and Eastern.

Osean Navy Lieutenant Commander Paul Wilbur found himself this morning as the shift supervisor for the Southern Sector, a region spanning from the ISEV east all the way to the Scofield’s Plateau. It was just before the shift change over when Paul entered the cavernous main room of the command center. Osean officers, enlisted, and civilian analysts were all busy at their respective stations. Walking up to his station he greeted the previous shift commander, an Osean Army captain whose nametape read CORNWALLIS.

“Morning captain.” Paul greeted, setting his coffee mug onto the desk.

“Sir.” The Officer replied curtly.

As Paul waited, he glanced to the large monitors that dominated one side of the room, there critical information could be displayed by the regional commander if the need arose, today, they were instead displaying the USEACOM seal onto a black background.

 

“Whats the report?” Paul asked.

The captain pulled up the log and turned one of the computer’s monitors towards the commander. “Nothing extremely exciting between the hours of zero-hundred and zero-nine-forty sir. A few notices from ATC on sporadic radar contacts but we’ve been able to rule those out as most likely transmitter error and nothing to worry about.” The younger officer narrated.

“So, nothing else on the flareups the other day?” Paul interrogated, to which the captain shrugged. “Nothing new about Anchorhead if that’s what you’re asking sir.” He replied.

Paul sighed heavily. “Well damn, I was hoping for more excitement given the region but, so be it.” he griped, taking a sip of coffee from his mug. Within a few minutes, Paul was sitting behind his console as the rest of his shift was filing into the room and going through the handover briefings. Periodically as crew would log off, he would receive notifications on his screen telling him that paperwork was pending in his inbox to be completed before the next eight-hour shift arrived. He amused himself with reading through the box-standard email reminders of the half-dozen annual computer-based trainings he had for another year in a row pushed off until the last minute, a proud tradition he had carried since his time as a young ensign aboard the frigate Garnet.

As he took time to reply to emails, a conversation from one of his staff caught his ear.

“Unknown AWACS calling, give your authentication code.” The Osean Army sergeant asked.

 

Paul quickly closed out of his email, threw on his earpiece and opened up a remote desktop onto the analysts computer. Under normal circumstances, AWACS had a direct line of communication with USEACOM, it was rare anyone would have called on the open frequency, let alone a command-and-control aircraft.

“This is AWACS Bandog, Authentication code Delta dash four five six dash three four five dash alpha. I have troops in contact and need immediate assistance.”

Without hesitating, Paul quickly pulled up a program to verify the authenticity of the given codes.

Carefully, he typed in D-456-345-A into the box and waited. After a second, the screen displayed a series of warnings on the code no longer being authorized. Dismissing them he was provided with a service number of the AWACS assigned to that code, a Major based out of Zapland during the last war.

 

Paul frowned but gave the go-ahead to his subordinate.

“Understood push Jaguar two” the sergeant directed.

“This is Bandog, I have a broken arrow situation, Coordinates to follow when ready.” The man on the other end of the radio said. Paul could feel a slight pit form in his stomach at the term. Broken arrow was a hardly if ever used term for friendly forces in immediate danger of being overrun by a hostile force, it had been used only a handful of times in the most desperate of situations.

 

Bandog read off coordinates allowing another staff member to pull up the region on their map. The coordinates given were to a piece of nondescript jungle, thirty miles from the old ISAF Istas Fortress complex.

The sergeant muted his radio and turned to Paul. “Sir, he says there’s a Osean Marine squad out there, eleven-man team, taking casualties. Reports enemy anti-air and helicopter forces in the area have already shot down their helicopter and air support units.” The Sergeant reported.

Paul turned to another one of his staffers “Any teams we know working out there?” he asked. The staff member looking shrugged “Army Special Warfare has no records of a team operating in that area, Im calling Oured now to see if any of them know about it.”

Turning his attention back to the sergeant “Ask him which unit.” He directed “I swear if this is another crank call.” He muttered to himself.

“Whats the news?” a voice asked walking up to Paul’s station, it was the regional commander, Army Colonel Chris Duber. Paul shrugged “Apparently we have an Osean unit in Chopinburg that no one has account of, with an AWACS that no one knows about using codes for someone whose existence stopped about a year ago. We’re verifying the information now.” Paul reported.

Duber furrowed his brow. “I’ll leave the choice up to you on how to handle it, just keep me informed.” The senior officer directed taking a step back.

 

Paul sighed. “Ok, someone get our airbases in the region called up. If this is true, I don’t want us caught with our pants around our ankles again, I want them in the air immediately.” He ordered, quickly the remaining staff got to work, within minutes he had a report of available assets in the region and notifications which squadrons were already airborne and where displayed on his computer screen.

 

“Sir?” One of his staffers spoke up. “What is it?” Paul replied annoyed. “Its Oured sir, I have a Colonel Mancuso on the line, says he needs to speak with you.” Paul stood up straighter. “Fine, patch him through.”

***

Loud sirens blared throughout the Selatapura ramp area as pilots and aircrew dashed between jets.

“Scramble, Scramble, Scramble!” a female voice repeated over the loudspeakers. Knocker almost falling out of the crew van as he ran to his Super Hornet, already ready to go thanks to the quick work of his crew chief and a handful of maintainers nearby. Throwing on his helmet, he tossed the canvas helmet bag to his Crew chief “What do we have?” Knocker asked as he took a second to adjust his harness. The intel briefing had been extremely sparse on details beyond a heading and distance, compounded with the extreme nature of deploying both the ground alert as well as the air alert fighters made the hair on the back of Knocker’s neck stand on end. The crew chief shrugged “Your plane and Cringe’s are ready to go, we’re expecting to have the rest of the ordinance loaded on the rest of the jets within the next half hour.” The crew chief reported. Knocker nodded approvingly before climbing up the ladder “Good, they’ve been itching for something to do.” He shouted as he signaled the engine start.

 

Within minutes, His jet was taxiing out behind his wingman. Knocker took a second to tune to the tower’s frequency.

“Selatapura Ground, Golem One flight of two, Taxiing to the active runway.” He called.

“Golem One, Wind calm, cleared for departure runway two-zero. We’ve got all flights stacked up and holding” The controller replied.

“Cleared for takeoff Runway two-zero, Golem One.” Knocker replied.

The two F/A-18s entered the runway, separated by the centerline, Knocker looked over to his wingman who nodded that he was ready, He placed his head back to the headrest and nodded himself and lit the afterburners. The engines roared as the jet screamed down the runway, within seconds the Hornets had hit rotation speed and were airborne in an unrestricted climb east over the bay.

As the two fighters rolled out onto their headings, Knocker double-checked his stores page on the MFD. Since him and his wingman were the ground alert, their Hornets were left with two Sidewinders, two GBU-12 laser-guided bombs and two rocket pods for close air support. The extra two fuel tanks bought the fighters a precious extra few minutes of cruise time before they would have to return to Selatapura or hit a tanker to refuel.

Knocker switched from the Selatapura frequency over to the local AWACS. “Skycatcher, this is Golem One, checking in as fragged.”

“Golem One, Skycatcher, Proceed heading Zero-niner-Zero for three hundred eighty.” The AWACS directed.

Knocker was unphased by the distance; Despite being at the edge of the combat radius for the jet, it was still doable. However, something was still nagging at him.

“Skycatcher, Golem One, any updates on what the mission is?”

There was a pause “Looks like we have troops in contact and are about to be overrun, Local air support was shot down. At least one Anti-air battery is active but no word on enemy air power.” The AWACS Reported.

“But we’re in contact with them? Why can’t we get any more solid intel then that?” Knocker pressed.

“Unknown, intel’s being passed by an AWACS in the area with direct contact, you’ll be passed off to them on Jaguar Two, callsign ‘Bandog’.” Skycatcher replied apologetically.

Knocker frowned “Understood.”

***

Fick watched dumbfounded at the scene directly above his head. The AT-802 that Trigger had just been in, was now a flaming wreckage plummeting towards the jungle below the mesa, as the plane fell further and further towards the ground, parts were torn from the burning wreckage.

“Does anyone see a chute?” Gunnery Sergeant Morgan barked.

“Come on Trigger, bail out!” shouted Adams.

 

Their pleas fell on deaf ears, or worse. Fick closed his eyes for a moment and recentered himself as he continued his run through the woods away from the compound with Hernandez. He cleared a small log and came across two armed men, their cloths were charred, and they looked bloodied and dazed taking little notice of the armed Osean that had jumped between them. Fick raised his Block II CQB M4 and with two quick trigger pulls, the men were dispatched.

“We have to go get him!” pleaded Kyle.

Fick motioned for Hernandez to stop and took a knee pulling out his tactical pad. Thanks to Bandog, it provided him with some details on where his scattered team was, as well as potential exfiltration options if the need arose.  Him and Hernandez were close enough to the helicopter’s crash site to hear their gunfire. Morgan, Dennings, Kyle and Haver were still pinned down and their position marker wasn’t moving. Gently putting the device back in its pouch, he gave the hand signal for Hernandez to move. It was a short walk to the edge of the tree line where they could see it. The bases’ defenders were in shambles, the attempted offenses against his men had resulted in heavy casualties. The tree line a hundred meters east of them was burning, between the craters of Trigger’s rocket attack was the dead or dying men. Directly ahead of the two Oseans, about three hundred meters was the shattered remains of the CH-53 and its occupants, returning fire from the multiple open holes in the torn apart fuselage. Between the two groups was a loosely organized group of riflemen, most seemingly clad in whatever they had on, with only a few Fick could see wearing any semblance of body armor or equipment.

“What are you thinking El-tee?” Hernandez whispered.

“I think they’re amateurs.” Fick replied.

“What do you mean?”

“They left their rear flank unprotected.” Fick replied.

Hernandez chuckled “Damn shame. About the only thing going for them is their spacing.”

“That’s true, would be too easy to lob a forty mike-mike in between them. But at least the target practice is refreshing.” Fick bantered.

 

He paused to key his radio.

“Assassin, this is Magus. cease fire on my mark, friendlies will be coming from the tree line and are going to link up with you. How copy.” Fick called out.

Another rapid burst of machine gun fire stitched across the ground in front of him before the radio squawked “Assassin copies all, On your mark Magus.” Zhao replied.

Fick and Hernandez took a second to ready themselves.

“3, 2, 1, Mark!” Fick yelled over the radio as he and Hernandez started running. Three hundred meters from the crash site.

 

At two hundred and fifty meters, the attackers started to leave their cover, Fick slowed from the full sprint and rested his red dot on the backs of the closest men. While running he fired the first burst, bullets stitching up the back of one man sending him spasming to the ground. The second man started to turn before the bullets struck him sending him to the ground. As Fick adjusted his aim to the third man, he tumbled and rolled thanks to an inopportune root sticking out of the ground.

 

Winded, He took a second to see Hernandez had cleared some distance between him and was finishing off the last of the attackers. Assessing his own injuries, Fick could feel a slight pain from his ankle and knee, hoping to rely on the adrenaline as an analgesic, he continued his run. Two hundred meters to go.

Seconds later, Hernandez called over the radio “Berserker, set!”, slowed to an awkward hop, He could see Adams and Zhao take up positions to cover Fick the rest of his way.

 

A dull beat of rotor blades filled Fick’s ears.

“Hinds! Take cover!” Morgan shouted.

Fick looked to the North and saw the unmistakable silhouettes barreling towards him. He was one hundred and fifty meters from safety, but with an injured leg and in the middle of an open field, it seemed impossibly far away.

The Earth seemed to open up around Fick as he ran and the next thing, he knew he was in extreme pain as the world faded around him.
***

Morgan and his team were in the shredded fuselage of one of the Cargo planes. Trigger had broken their lines momentarily, but it wouldn’t be forever. He glanced at what his team had left and pulled out one of the hastily thrown together charts of the Airfield. Glancing over the cover he finished his hasty plan. “Haver, Dennings, drop your gear, anything you absolutely don’t need to fight.” Morgan ordered.

“Uhh, Why Gunny?” Haver asked confused but complying, quickly tearing off parts of his vest and kit.

Morgan Pointed to a hangar “That’s probably your best spot for cover right now, I’ll buy you, Kyle and Dennings time to run there, and you three hole up there and wait for me to get Lancer.”

“That’s suicide Morgan.” Kyle protested.

The senior NCO shook his head “I can move faster than you three and have been doing this a lot longer. By my count we still have enough ammo for the 46 to make some noise so I’ll use that then dump it and run like hell.”

“But that’s almost a klick of open terrain with no Cover, not even you can survive that.” Haver pointed out.

“there’s a small runoff ditch alongside the Runway, It’s a bit more of a hike but I should be able to do it.” Morgan reassured them.

“No sense in talking him out of it. Let’s get going.” Haver said, lifting the smaller Dennings over his back into a fireman’s carry. Morgan picked up the almost depleted Mk-46 and ran out of the plane first, He had 30 rounds of ammunition left, plus another two mags for his rifle and then he would be down to his pistol.

 

Getting into the prone position, he looked through the holographic sight, The Airfields defenders were still scattered, and most of the main force that had attacked them was dead or dying thanks to Trigger.

“Go now!” Morgan barked as he scanned the area.

It was a few seconds before anyone had noticed the Marines running. Morgan rested the reticle on the first man he saw raise a weapon towards the trio and fired a quick burst. A Second group heard the commotion and started moving towards the first man as he was cut down, Morgan readjusted his aim muttering die motherfucker die before letting off the trigger. The hail of gunfire hit two of the oncoming group and stunned the rest. Morgan fired again and the rest fell or retreated from their dying comrades.

 

As Morgan continued his scan for threats, he noticed a high-pitched sound followed by the unmistakable beating or rotor blades. He looked up to see the almost reptilian shape of a Gunship approaching the airfield.

“Hinds! Take cover!” Morgan shouted.

 

A plume of smoke shot from the pylons of the gunship with the high-pitched whistle of rockets, immediately following the dull thump of explosions.

“Status!” Morgan barked into his radio. He felt sick as the silence dragged on.

He could hear coughing over the radio “Fuck!” Adams yelled in astonishment. Magus is down! I repeat, Magus is down!” Zhao called out. Morgan could see tracer rounds trailing the helicopter as it passed. He turned his attention back towards Kyle and Haver. The two men were almost at the entrance of the hangar. Morgan quickly pulled the M249 apart and threw the trigger assembly and bolt as far away as he could before getting up and making his own run towards the Runway. He ran the first one thousand feet unchallenged as he fell into the ditch. Two more gunships arrived with what Morgan assumed was the reinforcements.

 

He took a breath before he began his crawl across the ditch. He flinched as he heard the rapid report of one of the Hind escorts firing its gatling gun, looking over his shoulder he could see it was harmlessly firing towards his old hiding spot in the plane. Good, they don’t know where we are yet. He thought as he crossed the threshold of the runway.

Rounding the final corner of the runway and towards the crashed CH-53, Morgan could see the deployment of the cartel’s forces. It was a group of Mi-8 ‘Hip’ transport helicopters, one hovered above the airfield, while the four remaining had landed at various points across the airfield grounds. Protecting all of them was the three Hind gunships that could easily tear the remaining marines apart.

 

One of the Hips had landed nearby the crashed CH-53, likely looking for survivors Morgan thought to himself.

 

He got within five hundred feet before he stopped in his tracks.

 

The Helicopter hadn’t finished offloading its troops yet. Half a dozen men, armed similarly to the ones that had attacked him and Trigger some days prior were fanning out towards the crashed CH-53. Two of the men stopped about three hundred feet from the crashed helicopter and were kicking something. One of the men raised his rifle before collapsing to the ground, as the sound of gunfire registered with both the armed soldiers and Morgan, he could see someone running from the wreckage of the helicopter, a hail of gunfire cut down the second man. As the rest of the soldiers took notice of their sudden attacker, he quickly readjusted his aim and cut them down with a fan of bullets.

“Shéi shì xià yīgè!” Zhao bellowed in a language Morgan didn’t understand. Morgan watched as he lowered the MG3 and pulled something from his vest and threw it into the open cabin full of bewildered looking soldiers.  “Nǐ ne?” He said rhetorically as the men frantically scrambled inside the cabin. A muted explosion tore the sides of the helicopter out as the grenade detonated killing those trapped inside. The engines wailed a sickening scream as the debris tore them apart, the pilots dead or unable to stop the catastrophe from tearing the helicopter to pieces.  

“Moving to get Magus!” Adams yelled as he and another, who Morgan assumed was Hernandez, ran from the fuselage towards the area where the first two soldiers had been cut down. Morgan surveyed the area around him and started his run towards the downed helicopter. “Rider, coming in from the North” Morgan yelled as he ran. “Behind you, more Arschlöcher” Ben reported. Morgan looked over his shoulder to see soldiers that had dismounted were moving towards their position. Morgan could see flashes of small arms fire as someone from inside the helicopter fired a handgun towards the approaching force.

 

He arrived at the torn fuselage in around a minute, bullets sparked around him sporadically as Ben ushered him in, one arm in a makeshift sling and tied to his side while the other grasped a Walther P1. Inside the helicopter was a mess, Hernandez had quickly triaged the helicopters wounded co-pilot, who appeared to be unconscious, medical packaging was strewn around as well as various other equipment bags that had been thrown loose from the crash.

“Incoming!” Hernandez yelled as him and Adams carried something into helicopter. It was a body, the cloths were charred and covered in mud and blood. The limbs were hanging in unnatural directions or were missing entirely. Morgan was taken aback when he recognized the face under the blood and grime.

Hernandez gave him a shove “Either help me out or get the fuck out of my way, he’s not dead yet.” The corpsman said grimly running towards the medical bag.

 

“Ok Zhao, get your ass back in here.” Adams said over the radio.

“No, you need someone to buy time. I’ll do it.” Zhao said.

“Enough with the macho shit.” Dennings yelled over the radio.

Adams looked to Morgan in desperation, “Come on man, you’re the ranking one now, do something.”

“Zhao, that Hind will tear you apart.” Morgan said

Morgan watched helplessly as he saw what happened next.

 

Zhao ripped out his earpiece and lifted the machine gun, starting in a sprint he closed the distance towards the runway. The enemy soldiers were taken aback momentarily at the lone man’s charge but quickly halted to take aim. Zhao threw himself forward into a prone position and fired towards the organized group, the Armor piercing rounds killing a small handful of the soldiers and scattering the rest across the damaged runway. As soon as Zhao let off the trigger, the soldiers were moving to flank the marine. He took a knee and fired towards one group as they approached, killing many of them before he was shot in the back and fell forward.

“Tom!” Morgan yelled in horror.

He could see the men cautiously approach the downed marine. Their rifles raised apprehensively they got within steps of the older man. Within the span of a heartbeat though, Tom had flipped onto his back and with his service pistol and killed the four men with what Morgan guessed was a Mozambique drill to each of them. He dropped the nearly spent magazine and inserted a fresh magazine, taking a knee he grabbed the body of one of the dead soldiers and put it between him and the still incoming force. He aimed and fired, killing many, but it was a losing battle. One soldier got within steps of Zhao and before the Marine could turn to face him, he fired a burst from an AK into the wounded Marine.

 

Morgan watched in horror as he saw his longtime friend and teammate collapse, unmoving.

“Tom! Tom! Speak to me!” Morgan ordered.

 

Gut wrenching silence was his answer.

 

“Those Motherfuckers!” Adams screamed as he raised his rifle, the back of the head of Zhao’s executioner exploded as the bullet passed through it. Adams readjusted his aim and fired and continued firing until his magazine was dry. Each shot killing another man, but Morgan could recognize the situation that was developing. Hernandez turned his attention from the wounded Fick towards Morgan.

“What’s your order’s Gunny?” the Corpsman asked solemnly.

 

Morgan glanced to make eye contact with those left who could fight. “Do any of you honestly think they’ll take us as POWs?” he asked rhetorically “Then we do our jobs, fight to the last bullet and make damn sure they pay for what they’ve done.” He growled. Ben and Adams nodded solemnly understanding, Hernandez pointed his thumb at the wounded. “What about them?”

“If it looks like we’re going to be overrun. I’ll handle it.” Morgan replied grimly.

 

Morgan looked outside and watched the enemy force close in around the crashed helicopter. One lone Hind gunship hovered just behind them to cover their advance.

 

“Adams, any chance you can pop the pilot?” Morgan asked.

The sniper thought for a moment. “Not a chance, I’d need a fifty cal at least.”

“Damn, was worth a shot.” Morgan replied dryly.

 

As he raised his rifle, he watched as in slow motion, the nose of the Hind deform and explode in a fireball, within seconds the burning wreckage impacted the ground on top of the advancing soldiers. Morgan shot his head up to see a wispy white trail in the sky. Seconds later a crack was heard as another trail impacted the over-flying Hip.

 

The two remaining Hinds scattered, one Hind firing off flares and chaff outmaneuvered the incoming missile, his wingman was unlucky as the incoming missile made contact and detonated against the fuselage.

 

“Magus, Bandog, Mark position with smoke.” The AWACS’ voice came over the radio.

“What?” Morgan asked bewildered.

“Magus, mark your position with smoke now!” Bandog replied forcefully.  Morgan nodded to Adams who threw tossed the small circular grenade to the side of the torn aircraft, it paused for a second after landing before making a loud Pop belching out a bright red smoke.

 

“Rider to Bandog, friendly force marked by red smoke, be advised, friendlies in the hangars.” Morgan reported.

This time a different voice spoke out over the radio “Golem 1 to Rider, understand buildings are non-targets and have red smoke in sight. Take cover” the voice said, far calmer than both Bandog or Morgan could be.

 

“Get your heads down! Fire incoming!” Morgan bellowed to the Marines.

From his vantage point, He watched as the approaching soldiers were eviscerated, a sickening loud slapping sound could be heard as the canon rounds sprinkled the ground, followed by the recognizable high-pitched whirring of a gatling gun and the unmistakable sound of jet engines roaring up above.

“Hell Yeah!” Adams hollered pumping his fist.

 

The few enemy soldiers that were still standing appeared dazed momentarily at the sudden onslaught from seemingly nowhere, however seconds later they too were mercilessly cutdown by a second strafe of gunfire from the approaching fighter jets.

 

“This is Golem 1-2, Egressing North-west, Standing by for BDA.” A female voice spoke over the radio.

***

Knocker pulled up on the stick and leveled off followed a second later by the report of his wingman Lieutenant Ann ‘Vix’ Fox.

“Golem 1-2, BDA, 100 over 100, Good shooting Golem.” One of the friendlies on the ground reported.

Knocker breathed a slight sigh of relief at the report. Very few of his pilots had air-to-ground practice prior to the war, and even their employment of weapons during the final days had been sparce, however Vix and him were able to easily pull off a textbook shooter-shooter pass near the friendly position.

“Mage, Bandog, be advised, we have one Hind still active.” Bandog warned.

“Understood, Mage 1 moving to engage. Hades stay on CAP and cover me.” IRIS ordered. “Two” Hades replied immediately.

 

 

As the two hornets made their pass back towards the airfield, Knocker watched IRIS’ Viper dive towards the Hind. “Mage 1, Fox two!” She shouted, a long finger trail of rocket exhaust extended from one of her wings and exploded against the rotors of the gunship. Within a second the torn and burning fuselage disappeared into the jungle below before a brilliant fireball erupted from the dense canopy.

“Mage 1, splashed the bandit.” IRIS reported climbing back to her contracted altitude to join her wingman.

 

 “Golem 1-1, Rider 1-4, Standby for Nine-line, how copy?” The JTAC from before called in.

“Rider, Golem 1-1, standing by.” Knocker replied.

“Over red smoke, Heading zero-seven-three magnetic. Distance zero point three nautical miles. Target elevation eight six five MSL. 1 Triple-A Emplacement near large compound. Unable to mark. Friendlies north point three miles. Danger close. Egress Northeast. End nine-line. Standby for secondary target” The JTAC reported.

 

“Send second target.” Knocker replied. The JTAC complied and provided a large ground force that was gathering north of the runway, safely far away from the friendlies in the Hangars.

 

“Vix, you take the north target, I’ll take the south runway target. Plan using the Paveways.” Knocker ordered.

“Got it lead.” Vix replied. “Ok I got the target marked.” She reported.

Knocker quickly typed in the information onto the MFD, the image from the LITENING Pod underneath his fuselage came up, he quickly slewed the camera over the compound he had flown over and switched from the TV mode to the white-hot image, suddenly he could make out the distinct shape of an antiquated anti-air battery just beyond the walls of the compound, nearby was one of the Mi-8 helicopters that had disembarked its troops around the compound. He flipped on the laser to mark the target and a countdown appeared on his HUD.

 

As the two jets crossed over the smoke, Knocker reported inbound.

 

“Golem 1, Golem 2, Cleared hot.” The JTAC ‘Rider’ replied.

 

“Golem 2, bombs away.” Vix reported.

 

Knocker waited for the countdown timer on his HUD to disappear, with a single press of the pickle button, he felt the weight of the Hornet shift suddenly as the five-hundred-pound bomb fell off the pylon. Knocker passed over the heart of the compound, and in the FLIR’s camera, could see incoming flak shells, passing harmlessly behind him. “Golem 1, bombs away” Knocker reported.

 

A second later the gun and the personnel taking cover nearby vanished in an explosion of dirt and debris, trees fell under the immense force. He watched as the helicopter shuddered and pirouetted into the compound wall unceremoniously as the rotors disintegrated from the debris.

 

Knocker rolled his fighter over and positioned himself to rejoin on Vix’s aircraft.

“Golem 1 awaiting BDA.” Knocker replied, a formality but judging from the explosions he could see from his altitude, their attacks were effective.

“Golem, good effect on target, looks like they’re on the run.” The JTAC replied.

 

Soon Vix spoke up on the radio. “Golem 1, got visual on large enemy formation, looks to be a bivouac near those two Mi-8’s just east of the burning sector.” she reported.

 

Knocker slewed his targeting pod over the area, their formation was sloppy but still showed that whoever they were dropping ordinance on was at least a competent foe.

“Ok I got it, need me to lase for you?” Knocker asked.

“Negative, I have the target marked.”

“Alright, cleared hot.”  Knocker ordered.

 

He watched as Vix broke off from the formation and rolled in on the target. A second later he could see the bomb drop from Vix’s Hornet as she pulled “Golem 1-2, one away” she reported egressing her aircraft south of the airfield. The laser guided bomb impacted in the middle of the formation, within the large cloud of dirt and concrete that was thrown high into the air, Knocker could see muted secondary explosions, likely of the helicopters being shredded by the maelstrom of fragmentation.

“Good hit Golem 2. Rejoin on me” Knocker reported.  “Two.” Vix replied.

 

When he saw the Hornet close in on his wing, he motioned for a wheel formation before turning his attention back towards the ground. “Rider 1-4, Golem 1-1, What’s your status?” Knocker asked.

 

“Thanks for the air support Golem, looks like we have a few scattered forces nearby but for now they’re not a threat.” The JTAC replied.

 

The Hornets and Vipers lingered over the airspace for a handful of more minutes, occasionally performing ‘show of force’ maneuvers as directed by the JTAC to keep the scattered hostile forces on the backfoot.

 

“Golem 1-1, Mage 1-1, Bandog, take up heading one-eight-zero for one hundred and four miles to refuel with Friendly tankers.” The AWACS ordered; Knocker checked his fuel gauge above his left knee. With the tanker that close, his bingo state was far lower than he had programed.

“Understood Bandog, but we still have a few minutes left on station.”

“We got friendly units inbound. Golem, Mage, your relieved.” Bandog reiterated.

 

Knocker sighed. “You heard it ladies and gents, form up and lets head to that tanker.”

***

Bandog pushed back from the console and breathed a heavy sigh of relief. The marines for the time being were safe from immediate danger, and while he had sent away their air cover, he was watching the target track of the Osean Air Defense Force CV-22 Ospreys closing in only minutes away, with more fighters from Selatapura close behind them. It was an awesome show of force that the air battle manager wished he had windows to witness instead of relying on the Saab’s sensor suite.

 

He unzipped a pocket on his leather A2 jacket and pulled out a worn box of cigarettes, he pulled one out with his teeth and with his free hand, fished in his flight suit pocket for a zippo lighter. Turning on the torch, a small blue flame jutted out with a subtle roar. Before he could light his reward however, he felt a tapping on his shoulder.

“Uhh, Boss.” David said, tapping a large NO SMOKING sign plastered on the bulkhead in front of him. He hissed briefly but complied closing his lighting and shoving the cigarette back into the pouch.

“Why is it I can buy an airplane, with my own money, but I’m still not allowed to smoke on it?” Bandog asked annoyed.

David shrugged and thumbed towards the cockpit. “I don’t think you want to test their rules. They sound like my mom on car rides.” He said jokingly.

Bandog shook his head dismissively. “Whatever, Lets just hope this doesn’t turn into more of a shitshow than it already is. Any word on that tanker?” Bandog asked.

David shook his head “Yep, IUN finally got off their ass and is sending a tanker up now, should get there right before Golem or Mage do. Damn Bulgurdarestian Air Force was throwing a fit over it though. You don’t have the proper clearance this and I want to speak to your commanding officer that.” David said in a mocking tone.

“Well, I guess I can’t count on a Christmas card from them any time soon then I take it. Too bad.” Bandog replied, unable to hide the exhaustion in his voice.

 

The two men watched their respective scopes and listened to the radio traffic for a short time. Bandog continuously switched his radio between the distress frequencies, and back to the airspace. He knew it was a long shot judging from what Morgan and the other’s had relayed to him, but if Trigger was out there, Bandog hoped he would be smart enough to at least get a message through.

 

“Huh weird.” David murmured. Causing Bandog to perk up “What is it?”

David shook his head “Probably just a bad track but I got another aircraft leaving the AO.”

Bandog pulled up the screen David was referencing, Whatever the target was, was slow moving and low enough to the ground it was disappearing and reappearing from the screen.

“Well, it’s probably not one of those fighters, hold on.” He said keying his radio. “Rider, Bandog, are there any Helo’s left that just departed?” Bandog asked.

“Negative Bandog, None of the Hips or Hinds are still active.” Morgan replied.  

Bandog exhaled sharply. “Keep track on that target, I want to know where it goes and when we first and last saw it.” he ordered.

“Righto.” David replied.

 

The radio once again crackled to life. “Bandog, Lancer 3-1, flight of four V-22’s, inbound to the airfield.”

Bandog shot David a confused glance “That’s not the Pararescue, is it?” Bandog asked rhetorically.

David shook his head “Nothing I was told about. No.”

Bandog shrugged. “Guess we need to make ourselves sparce here pretty soon.” He chuckled before keying his radio. “Lancer, this is Bandog, be advised we had friendly aircraft that will be stacked Angels twelve to angels two four, along with friendly V-22’s already on station providing CASEVAC to wounded.” Bandog said over the radio.

“Understand that, our mission is different to the ongoing operation.” The Lancer pilot replied.

Bandog shot a look to David who got up from his seat, and without saying a word, proceeded to the cockpit.

“Understood Lancer, be advised we still have enemy forces active in the area but your cleared in.” Bandog replied.

 

As he felt the Saab changing course, him and David went about shutting down the sensor suite on the aircraft, from here on out it was an entirely Osean operation to control.