FSE

Furry search engine

formerly SoFurry search engine

Wylde Fyre By Stephen Doyle

Chapter Two July 18th 2017 Bagram Airbase, Parwan Province, North-East Afghanistan 21:30 hours approx.

Taia yanked her helmet off of her head in an angry gesture, her long tail thrashing from side to side, and a snarl on her white-furred muzzle. As the warm evening breeze caught her ginger hair, she felt some of the anger leach off. It was pointless anger, all the same - there was nothing to direct it at, not now. And the only thing to do was to try and help in whatever way she could with the search-and-rescue operations. Max followed behind her as she stalked away from her plane, helmet hung over one shoulder. The broad-shouldered, tall, Wolverine looked mismatched with his slim, sleek-bodied partner, but if nothing else, the expressions on their faces matched perfectly as they moved away from their aircraft. Hours of debriefings would follow, they knew, before they'd have a chance to launch on anything even resembling a mission to help find Sean and Jon - but they'd stick it out, since they wanted to know what had happened to the boss. And leaving either of them behind wasn't an option. Taia paused in her thoughts and turned to watch as an HC-130J Combat King, a search and rescue version of the C-130J transport plane, lumbered into the air with the buzzing roar of its' four turboprop engines drowning out all other sound for a few moments. The high-winged, blunt-nosed plane was capable of refuelling the various helicopters that would be used in the search-and-rescue operation while still in the air, as well as using its' own sensors and systems to help locate their downed friend. The attention of the pair was diverted away from the plane taking off as a pair of camouflage-clad men approached at a trot. The insignia on their uniforms, and the style of helmets and gear they wore marked them out as Royal Marines from the UK. But they already knew as much - Captain Zane Marshall and Lieutenant Marcus Spooner were friends of theirs. The Strikers had operated as close-air-support for the Royal Marine unit on more than one occasion, helping to pull their fat out of the fire. The felines - Snow Leopard and Tiger, respectively - had drawn looks of concern on their faces as they stopped short in front of Taia and Max. "We heard what happened to the Major and Lieutenant Finch," began Marcus, a mix of worry and anger on his rugged, striped face. "The Captain's managed to bully the brass into getting us on the CSAR mission, so we'll be out there in a tick" "That's good news at least," said Max, looking from Taia's face, to the marines. "Good to know that someone we know will be out there looking for them". "And we know you won't give up easily, too". Added Taia with a firm nod, her jaw set in a jutting expression of determination. "Not a chance, love - we haven't forgotten what you did for us before. Least we can do is try and find your boss and his co-pilot out there on the ground", chipped in the snow leopard. "Besides, if it saves us from having to buy you air force types any more rounds in the bar, then it's all perfectly fine with us". "When are you flying out?" asked Max, unzipping his survival vest and letting it hang open. "Soon, right?" Zane checked his watch, and nodded. "Ten minutes. There's an Osprey loaded up to take us in. That Herk that just took off will be refuelling us en route. Once we're there, we'll go in and try and find Sean and Jon, and keep them both safe from anyone else who might be after them". "I'm glad to hear someone's going after them," added a voice familiar to Max and Taia. Zane and Marcus stood aside, making space for a female Hyena that, given her accent, and the RF-111 parked a short way off, could only be Dart. A tall, handsome Kangaroo followed her, nodding with a tight smile as he stepped into the discussion circle the others had formed. "Flight Lieutenant Nina Dartford," she announced, giving a smart salute, and then relaxing, although her face still held concern and worry. "Although you know me better as Dart. This fine gentleman is Flying Officer Red Burnett". "Devil," said Red with a small smile, "If that's all the same to you boys and gals that is". Everyone exchanged greetings, before Nina's face fell, and she shook her head. She had a surprisingly soft-edged figure for a combat pilot. Her broad hips and softly curving tummy, bust, and rear were very much the opposite of Taia's sleek, slender frame. Her long chestnut brown hair was pinned up in place for her helmet to fit over the top, contrasting bright green eyes that stood out in her face like jewels. Her right hand held her helmet under one arm, while her left seemed almost absently curled around a small cylindrical pendant, made of a dull golden metal on a leather thong that hung down to almost between her generous - almost gratuitous - breasts over the open collar of her flight suit. Sean would like to meet her, she thought. She'd known him long enough - and had enough drunken chats in enough bars on late nights - to know what her C.O. looked for in a girl. "I'm sorry about Blade and Birdie," the hyena said a moment later, awkwardly and with an uncertain frown. "If it wasn't for us, then-" "No point going over it now, love," said Marcus with a friendly smile. His Northern England accent was thick and reassuring. The tiger rested a huge hand on Nina's shoulder as he continued. "They'd have done the same for you. Captain Marshall and I know that well enough, like". "Too right," agreed the snow leopard, glancing to Taia and Max, who both nodded in affirmation. "He pulled our tails out of the fire before, and risked his neck to do it". "I still feel responsible though," said the Hyena, looking up from face to face. "If I hadn't been-" "We were performing our mission as we were told, Dart", Devil said, cutting her off. "We weren't expecting to find anything out there - but when we did, the Major and the others had to reply. We definitely weren't expecting those bloody raptors to show up either". Max shook his head in agreement. The memory of Josh and Baxter was still very real; as real as the empty parking spot next to their Strike Eagle on the airfields' apron, in fact. The others followed his gaze, and an uncomfortable silence descended, all of them absorbed in the thoughts of the lost men. "We'd better get going," said Zane a moment later, looking over his shoulder to the tilt-rotor V-22 Osprey in the distance. Already ground crew were clearing away the various paraphernalia of a grounded aircraft, and readying it for flight. The vacuum cleaner whine of a starter cart could be heard soon after. Taia looked to the Marine, and opened her muzzle, as if to say something, to suggest anything. For a moment, she wanted to insist he take them with him, that they all grab rifles and go along. But she alone had no idea about infantry tactics, or fighting in the dirt. She'd had some basic training and evaluation with an M4 carbine, and was a fair enough shot with her standard issue M9 pistol - but launching into a combat search and rescue in hostile territory was a different thing altogether. She, and the others, would only be a liability to the mission. They might even stop them from finding Sean and Jon, or cause them to be captured or worse. "We'll find them both for you," Zane said, reading the expression in her eyes, and seeing the frustration she shared with her fellow airmen. "And we'll bring them both back to you as well. And if not, we'll make sure whoever's got the two of them regrets it right away". The four aviators gathered together as the Royal Marines ran for the Osprey, watching as they, and the rest of their men, shouldered their gear and moved in two columns into the back of the tilt-rotor. The huge blades of the aircraft, mounted on the rotating engine pods at the wingtips, were now spinning steadily and increasing in speed as they built up to take off speed. "They'll find them," said Nina, watching as the aircraft began to roll away from them, heading for a clear area to take off. "I know it". "I hope you're right," said Taia, shaking her head. "We've lost too many people already today". The Osprey roared into the sky, receding into a blurry shape of blinking lights and noise, as it climbed away. The four of them stood, watching, until it disappeared, before turning on their heels and heading for the bases' administration buildings. It was going to be a long night.

July 18th 2017 South-East Tajikistan 22:00 hours

Sean floated in a blank, black void. It was soft and comforting, almost like a softly packed mattress. Warm arms wrapped around him, and nuzzled his muzzle to the cushion of a gentle, generous bosom. He felt safe, and secure. He felt wanted, and loved. "There now, sweetheart," said a woman's voice. To him, it sounded like the RF-111 pilots. The same accented twang, the same firm confidence and reassurance. "Isn't that better, away from all the war? Somewhere proper for you, my love, to lay down your head and rest away from all the danger out there, away from the pain?". Sean gave a contented sigh, resting into the soft warmth of the woman's body, feeling her softness under his hands and head. Enough to dull the pain that still ached, red hot, along the left side of his face. He tried to lift his head, to see her face, but instead, she was falling away from him, and he was being pulled away. She receded into the distance, haloed by lights and the white wings coming from her shoulders, as he dropped into a red, fiery abyss. The heat scorched his fur, and climbed up his body, burning at his face, and dragging him down, down, down- Sean awoke with a yelp of alarm, and struggled to sit up. He scrambled against hard rocks and dust, and with alarm realised was being dragged backwards - and that his face really did burn with pain. Fighting down the bile rising in his throat, and the sense of panic and fear, the vulpine scrambled about, shifting over onto his right side enough to look up - and realise that he wasn't being dragged away by the enemy. Instead, wind had caught the still intact and attached parachute, and was dragging him along the ground. He dug his boots into the ground, and fumbled around for a few moments, before managing to unclip the parachute harness, the canopy falling flat with no weight to pull it along. He rolled onto his knees and winced, his body shuddering with agony as he managed to movement. Gasping and gritting his teeth, he hauled himself upright and found his legs able to support his weight, which was good news. He felt aches and pains throughout his body, shaking through his limbs. He sank back down onto a smooth-topped rock, pressing his gloved hands flat against his thighs, his muzzle felt dry. He was alone, in hostile territory. He was injured and night was closing in, the temperature already dropping enough to feel a cool chill biting at his fur. It was all too easy to let despair overtake him in this situation. The odds were stacked against him, but he'd been trained to deal with it. He had to remember that training, dig deep and bring it to the surface. Swallowing down his fear, he forced a wall of calm detachment into his mind. He raised his right hand and looked at it. His fingers were shaking. He clenched his fist, before digging the pendant out of his suit, and then wrapping his fingers around it. The beaten metal was cool, despite having been next to his skin and fur under a T-shirt and flight suit for hours. As he rubbed his smooth paw-pads over the metal, he could feel the pits and divots in the surface of the burnished gold alloy. He still didn't know what metal it was. No-one did. And he'd never been especially willing to part with the heirloom to have it tested. The pilot squeezed his eyes shut and took a deep breath, holding it until he could feel his heart thud in his chest, and then letting it out in a slow exhale, opening his eyes and looking at nothing as he concentrated. The situation was like almost anything else involved in combat flying; it could be broken down with a checklist, step by step, and follow that list. A smile ghosted onto his lips as he imagined ticking off boxes on a paper list, like a shopping trip. The thought buoyed his spirits enough to start working on his situation. Pulling on the straps attached to his G-suit, he reeled in the survival kit that had been attached to his seat and had descended with him on the parachute. Gathering it on the rock beside him, he began to unpack and check the individual items, checking to make sure everything had survived, and taking stock of his situation. He had all the basics he needed - a small bottle of water, a decent medical kit, a mirror, a fire-starting kit, a wire saw, the PRC survival radio - which had fortunately survived unscathed - a couple of pencil flares, a miniature flashlight, some well-wrapped candies and a bar of high energy chocolate, and of course, the survival knife strapped to his ankle, and the M9 Beretta handgun and its' two spare magazines. All of it was tightly wrapped and packed to fit into the smallest space possible. It didn't look, or seem, like a lot; but it was what he had. It had been provided to keep him alive, and keep him moving. And he'd need it if he didn't want to get captured - or worse. Escape and Evade was what he and all other pilots were taught. Not to engage the enemy in a guns blazing one-on-one fight, unless there was no other option. Instead, hiding, running, and escaping were the name of the game. Although the wounds he'd received needed attention first. He returned to sitting on the rock, and laid the medical kit out beside him. Taking a deep breath, he fumbled for the mirror, again finding it difficult to grab hold of the object. His depth perception was shot, it seemed. Again, he swallowed a rise of bile in his throat as he raised the mirror, already suspecting the worst as he squinted at the mirror. Blood had run from around the left side of his face, and the eye socket there, and begun to dry and clot. Already, the rusty orange and slightly off-white fur had begun to dry into stiff spikes. He winced and tried to open the ruined and ripped flesh of his eye, but the muscles refused to reply, instead throwing him back as spike of pain so intense he took a shuddering breath and almost keeled over again. Abandoning attempts to open or close his eye, he instead tried to squint closer at the damage, but the blind spot caused by the bridge of his muzzle made it hard to focus properly. Eventually, with some patience and awkward manoeuvring of the steel mirror, he could see that the left side of his face was mapped with a mass of small cuts and slashes, focused around the largest over his eye. Lowering the mirror, he looked around, and then picked up his helmet where he'd abandoned it on the ground. Turning the helmet over and around in his hands, he found the visor had shattered, and the left side of his 'bone dome' was dented and buckled. Sean rubbed his thumb over the dent in the plastic material absently, trying to piece together what had happened. The Raptor had fired its' cannon at the F-15E, and the next thing he remembered was the injury, and then ejecting. He hesitantly touched one gloved hand to his face, and gave a hiss of pain as he touched the raw, tender and stick flesh and fur, shuddering and grimacing. What could have happened? If a twenty millimetre cannon shell from the F-22's cannon had hit him directly, he wouldn't have simply lost an eye - his entire head would've exploded like a watermelon. The round must have hit the fighter, but not penetrated, and then ricochet through the canopy, the fragments then hitting across his face. In short: he had been very, very, very lucky to survive. But he couldn't leave the wound as it was - to do so would be inviting infection to take root. He had to clean and dress the injury before he could even think about moving. Sean gathered the components of the aid kit together, and ripped open one of the sterile wipes inside. Taking a deep breath and holding it against the pain, he held the mirror in one trembling hand, and scrubbed the sterile wipe across his face, softening the dried blood and scrubbing it out of his fur, and cleaning the area of the wound carefully, and quickly. It was hard, tough, and painful, and he had to stop once, as the ragged flesh and oozing blood and other fluids spilled onto his face. It was too much to handle, and moments later he bent forward between his knees and threw up onto the dusty desert floor, spitting the taste from his muzzle and taking deep breath to clear his head before, with shaking hands, finishing the clean-up. He didn't want to think about the implications right now, especially for his flying career. He'd heard stories of plenty of civilian pilots going on to become certified and qualified again after losing an eye. But for a military aviator, in the aircraft they flew, nothing less than 20/20 vision was acceptable. Even being able to correct your vision to 20/20 was good enough. But having one eye would be an altogether different matter. He sucked in a breath, stifling the rising swell of sadness. Flying fighters had been his life as an adult. Hell, flying aircraft had been his life, period! Suck it up, and move on, he heard the voice of his survival trainer. He still had to survive, and get out of here. At least if he was alive, he could do something with whatever he had left. Setting the muscles in his jaw into a defiant expression, he gathered gauze and a cotton pad together, dressing the area around his eye, taping the impromptu patch into place, before wrapping a bandage around his head to hold it in place. A check with the mirror showed everything was sitting where it should be. He was almost impressed with what he'd done, rough and ready as it was. The fox gathered the rest of his gear together, strapping the compass to his wrist, and pulling out the cloth map he'd been issued. A few minutes work had his location worked out, and what direction to head. He stood from the rock, wobbling slightly, before closing his eye, and centring himself with a few deep breaths. Night was falling, and the temperature was coming down. He had to find shelter. Not to mention, he needed to rest for a while, and try moving in daylight. He patted the pouch on his aviators' vest where the PRC-112 survival radio was stored. He considered turning it on, and sending a message, or using its' integrated GPS to find his location; but he'd heard stories that pilots were always captured soon after using their radio immediately. Right now, his best chance was to keep moving. He scraped out a small hole in the sandy, dry ground using his survival knife, widening it with his hands and threw his helmet into it, along with the used wipes and torn packets, stamping the earth down and scattering leaves over it. The parachute he picked up and draped around his head and shoulders as a poncho, to add another layer of warmth. Sean checked the compass one last time, touched the pendant, and limped into the dimming light, heading for a nearby ridgeline. Maybe there'd be a cave, or some other nook he could take cover in.

July 19th 2017 Bagram Airbase, Parwan Province, North-East Afghanistan 02:00 hours approx.

Nina groaned and leaned back in her butt-numbingly uncomfortable chair. Made of hard plastic and steel tubing, the chairs in the briefing room she and the other three aviators, had been shoved into for the last six hours to be endlessly examined, cross-examined, question, reviewed and interviewed by a number of specialists, experts, and officials. They hadn't eaten, or even showered, after they'd landed, and were still clad in their G-suits and survival vests. The last officer in charge of examining the events on the mission had scribbled the last bits of information onto a variety of forms, glanced around the room at their faces, and then left, telling them to 'wait there, until someone says otherwise'. That had been almost an hour ago, and the four of them had been growing ever more fed up since that point. They'd equally heard nothing about the rescue attempts being made to find Sean, which had made the quartet even more surly and aggravated. The hyena let out a long sighing breath as she tipped her head back in her chair, looking up at the polystyrene ceiling tiles, pockmarked with marks and holes from enterprising aircrews lobbing pencils point-up into them. As her eyes tracked across the ceiling, her mind wandered back to the events of the early evening, her left arm unfolding from behind her head to tug on the leather thong around her neck, and hook out the cylindrical pendant hanging at the end of it. It wasn't much longer than a 5.56mm rifle round and the width was almost the same too. But unlike a round of ammunition, it had no taper, and no point - it was a simple, blunt-ended cylinder, made of some kind of age-weather burnished gold-coloured metal. As normal, it was slightly cool to the touch, despite having been hung down her shirt next to her boobs for the whole day, and under her smooth paw-pads, she could feel the imperfections in its' surface. All perfectly normal for the piece of jewellery on a day-to-day basis and not unusual in the slightest for the years she'd worn it since being handed it by her grandmother. But what had been a surprise and stuck in her head was the moment earlier, as the Striker Squadron had arrived. When she'd caught sight of the three-ship formation of F-15E's, the pendant had felt, for a few seconds, like it was vibrating. And later, when she'd seen Sean and Jon get hit, it had almost felt like an ember caught in her fur. She shook her head. Imagination, heat of the moment, or circumstance - all of those were far more likely explanations that anything the pendant could have done. And even then, there were various ways it could've happened too. She didn't know what the metal even was, as no-one had ever told her as much. So who knew how it was supposed to react, or what properties it had. Her thoughts trailed off into imagination and speculation, as she thought of her grandmother, the 'black sheep' of the family. She'd have approved of Nina's choice of an adventurous career in the RAAF, as she'd been one for adventure too. Very old when Nina was young, she'd been all around the world, following rumours, myths, and legends as a photographer, researcher and sometimes journalist, taking part in all manner of expeditions that by today's standards, would've been viewed with at best scepticism, and at worst mockery. Whether they'd ever amounted to anything was something she didn't know. Her grandma had only ever told them small parts of the story, and had never even included details such as who financed the expeditions, or what it was they were looking for in particular. But she'd had enough exciting tales of escapes from dangers both natural and man-made to thrill her as a child. As smile crept onto her muzzle at the memory of her beloved grandma, now sadly gone, and it was enough to distract her from the boredom as the ceiling fan made another rickety rotation. But it was Taia who broke the silence a few moments later, scraping her chair back across the floor and climbing to her feet. "That's it", she announced, "I'm done. I am not waiting around in her for another minute for anyone to come and ask me if I'm sure I saw what I think I saw, or if there was any chance it was an accident, or any other number of inane and half-assed questions!" The cougar stalked to the door, her fists balled tightly and an angry snarl on her face. Nina exchanged an alarmed glance with Red, before standing out of her chair, Max doing the same. "Mainline, hold on a sec!" called the wolverine after her, reaching out as she put one hand on the door. "If we leave without being dismissed-" "What? We'll get in trouble? They'll court-martial us, or have us sent to the stockade? At least then I'd get to fucking sleep!" "We're all pissed off, Mainline," Nina began, opening her arms in a pleading gesture, her tail hanging limply, as she looked into the cougars' face. Taia paused, but shook her head. "We've been stuck here for hours - hours! - after all that's happened, and we've not had word one of thanks, or sorry, or even letting us know what the hell is going on out there! All because it was some assholes in a pair of raptors that we had to deal with. Does any of that sound right to you?" Nina opened her muzzle and then gave a frustrated sigh, folding her arms over her chest and looking away. She wanted to argue more with Taia, or convince her to stay - but really, she couldn't agree more with the other woman's sentiment. Sure, being in the air force of any country usually involved a fair amount of waiting around for things to happen, often with great urgency impressed on doing so. But given the situation they'd all been through, being left to wait this long after such a mind-boggling display of questions and reviews. She was as angry as the American pilot, despite Blade and his WSO not having been people she knew in the same way. More so, she was angry that no-one had come to express their condolences over the loss of Baxter and Josh, whose names she'd learned from the two Americans she'd ended up spending the last few hours with. The loss of a comrade wasn't something to be taken lightly by any account. Especially in a way as shocking as their battle earlier on had been. But the presence of the unmarked F-22's was a concern. No nation on Earth other than the USA used the Raptor, and it was one of the worlds' most advanced warplanes. All the production and prototype aircraft on record could be accounted for. Which made the origins of these machines that much more sinister. "Then what should we do?" Said Max, speaking with a neutral expression on his face as he spoke, but his tone sounded like he agreed with his pilots' sentiment. "You want we should just walk out the door and hope for the best? With everything that's happened, you think that's a great idea?" Taia gave an exasperated hiss, and turned back, shooting a fierce look at the wolverine, who remained impassive, his hands flat on the wooden tabletop. The cougar was about to speak again, when the door clicked open. She jumped back out of the way, as a USAF officer in a more formal uniform entered the room. Even from a glance, the assembled pilots could see that the grey and white furred husky was a general. Hands shot to temples in perfectly executed salutes, despite the fact they were scattered across the room. The General returned the salute slowly, and with a slightly amused expression on his face. He made no guess at what had been going on, but instead maintained the quietly amused expression. "At ease, ladies and gentlemen. Please, take a seat" he paused while the four of them did so in a somewhat embarrassed silence. Nina and the others exchanged glances, and Taia spoke up as they all looked to her. "Before you begin, sir, I think I speak for all of us when I say: We've had literally hours of debriefings, examinations, and testimonials. We've been in this room since we landed, and so far, no one's updated us on what's going on with the rescue mission, or given us a chance to deal with what happened to Lieutenants Masters and Stockard. We haven't even had a chance to shower, or change out of our G-suits, sir. I know that this is an unusual situation, but-" "Hold on a moment, Captain. I haven't detailed anyone to interview you yet. I only ordered that you be retired to your quarters for the evening, and then to this briefing room at-" he checked his watch, "-zero thirty hours. Are you saying you've been here since you landed?" The four exchanged confused looks, before Max turned his attention back to the General and spoke up. "Sir, they had all the correct uniforms and identification. They acted like real security personnel and officers, used the correct language. There was nothing about them that made them seem anything other than what they were". "Just like the Raptors," added Red. "Looking exactly like what they were - but not doing what you'd expect, or working for whom you'd expect". The husky looked astounded - and with good reason - before reaching for a phone inside his jacket. He stabbed a finger at the touch-screen and began to issue orders rapid-fire to whoever was on the other end. "You know," said Taia in a low voice, looking at the others. "It strikes me that if these people - whoever the hell they are - are trying to get all the info on the mission, then they might not want anyone else to hear about it". Red's eyes widened as he realised what she meant. "Oh crap. They're not going to let us get-" The bases' air raid sirens began to wail, and the four shot to their feet, as the Generals' jaw dropped in disbelief. He flung the door open, and stood aside as they pelted out of the door, re-zipping their survival vests.

July 19th 2017 Airspace over Northern Afghanistan 02:30 hours

Afghanistan had been territory friendly to the West since the installation of the countries' first organised and democratically elected government for decades. Since then, the various national powers that had made up the International Security Assistance Force - or ISAF - had kept detachments of troops and equipment in the country to assist in training their replacements from the local populous. When the war in Tajikistan erupted, the Afghanistan government immediately offered the use of the facilities that ISAF had helped rebuild for basing and deployment, especially for the use of tactical aircraft and ground forces. They had also opened their airspace for operations by allied aircraft. This meant that Tanker aircraft and AWACS planes like Highball, the E-3 Sentry that had been in communication with the Strikers and Nina and Red earlier that day, was able to fly an orbit over the northern end of Afghanistan, and use the powerful long-range radar mounted in its' rotating dome above the fuselage to monitor the ground and airspace above the country from a long distance. Like the airliners it resembled, it could stay in the air for hours, a time that could be extended even further with in-flight refuelling. However, the controllers and operators of the equipment aboard the Sentry didn't have the same kind of endurance, and the plane didn't carry much in the way of creature comforts, beyond a couple of backache inducing bunks, and a tiny galley for reheating pre-packed meals. As such, the plane was about to retire on its' shift, heading back to the airport at Kandahar in the south of the country. Another E-3 would come on station to replace it while the crew got their needed rest, and the plane received its' scheduled maintenance. The four-engined, wide-bodied plane had turned towards home, and the crew were starting to relax as they transferred control of their chunk of the battle space over to new aircraft coming on station. As the plane began to move away from its' orbit, the pilot and co-pilot moved into their tasks with vigour, happy to be doing something other than turning circles in the sky, even if it was a simple flight to their base, and a landing at a well-managed airport runway. Their routine was interrupted, however, as the warning tones of the E-3's Radar Warning system sounded - amazingly, and to them, unthinkably - the jet had been targeted by hostile missiles. "Crew, to emergency stations! Brace for evasive manoeuvres!" The co-pilot yelled into his headset, and then wrapped his hands around the yoke as the pilot forced the big plane through its' limited range of evasive manoeuvres. Being so large, and with the 'Frisbee' on the upper fuselage further limiting the jets' aerodynamic qualities, the jet was nowhere near nimble. The pilot hammered buttons for countermeasures, ejecting bundles of chaff and punching bright, hot flares out into the night sky - but the weapons arrayed against him and his aircraft were formidable indeed. Over two hundred miles away, the attacking aircraft - a Peoples' Liberation Air Force J-17, a Chinese-manufactured fighter based originally on the Russian SU-27 Flanker - had launched a pair of large turbojet powered missiles designed solely to home in on the emissions of the radar mounted above the E-3's body. Once that radar was locked into the missiles' guidance system, it could home to within close distance, and then use onboard radar to guide itself into lethal distance with the target. The E-3 had little chance to escape. Despite the best attempts of the pilot, and the variety of jamming devices the crew employed, the Kh-31 air-to-air missiles homed in relentlessly on the jet. As the airliner-looking plane screamed into a crash dive to try and throw off the incoming attack, the first of the two weapons hit. It impacted where the radar domes' support pylons joined the fuselage, ripping the entire 'frisbee' and it's array clear of the plane, the wreckage tearing the vertical rudder off of the aircraft in the process, and sending it into a sideways skid. The second missile hit home moments later, impacting just forward of the wings, and tearing the fuselage in two, and detonating the remaining aviation fuel aboard, and lighting up the early morning skies in a blinding white fireball, that could be seen for miles. The J-17 turned and ran as soon as the fireball lit up the sky - only to be chased down by two Royal Air Force Eurofighter Typhoons. But that was of no real consequence - the AWACS plane had been destroyed, and with it, the recordings and information on the engagement earlier in the day between the Striker squadron and the mysterious raptors. All the Chinese pilot had known was that he had been detailed a mission from his superiors, showing vulnerability in the aerial coverage of the allied forces, and an opportunity to strike at one of their AWACS aircraft. A mission he had carried out to the fullest extent.

July 19th 2017 Bagram Airbase, Parwan Province, North-East Afghanistan At that same time

Nina, Taia, Red and Max ran along the corridor to the outside, General Cunningham in close pursuit. The warning sirens had changed their pattern after the first blast. From one long, sustained call, it had changed to short blasts. What had originally been marked as an air raid was instead now being identified as a ground attack on the base. "A ground attack?" said Max in short breaths, panting as he drew to a halt beside the others at the door to the outside. Already, others were pouring outside and heading for duty stations or bunkers. "How could anyone have got this far behind the lines?" "Insurgents, maybe?" said Taia, shouldering the door as someone pushed past, and scanning the area without looking back. "Or maybe paratroops, if the first siren wasn't a mistake. Either way, it's bad news." "Do you think," said Red, the words petering off halfway through the sentence, before the kangaroo frowned, and then stepped out of the door, moving to the corner ahead of Taia, and then looking in alarm into the distance, as the pop-pop-pop of small arms fire was heard. "Do you think," he continued, "that they're coming for us? Trying to keep us silent?" "Maybe," said Nina, with a grimace. "Or maybe they'll use it as a cover-up, have someone slot us while all this fighting is going on, and then bugger off under its cover as well". "What the hell are you people talking about?" said the General with a note of disbelief in his voice. "Cover-ups? And who is this 'they' you keep going on about. Do you have any idea how totally insane you all sound?" The quartet paused, exchanging glances, before Nina stood to attention, drawing herself up to her full height, back straight and her muzzle jutting proudly forward. "Sir," she said in a firm, strong voice, thick with her accent. "On behalf of myself, and of my colleagues, I assure you that we are acting with only the best interests of the Allied Forces, and within the oaths we all swore as members of our respective countries' armed forces. We've lost our comrades in arms and our friends today, and as you've seen already - we've been deceived by an outside force". She paused, quickly glancing at the others, who urged her to go on with silent glances and nods of their heads, even as the gunfire nearby grew more intense. "Sir, we'll give you the full run down on what happened out there, who was involved, and what happened - but right now, we believe that the same people who were responsible for Major Blade being MIA, and Lieutenants Stockman and Master being KIA is quite probably trying to use this attack on the base as an excuse to get rid of us as well. Which means that they're willing to allow the men and women here to be hurt and killed, and for any efforts fighting this war to fail too, which is why, sir, we should try and get ourselves to a safe location immediately". The husky looked between all of their faces, seeing their set expressions. All of them had the same look of determination and will in their eyes, their bodies all poised and set. And he shook his head, his ears drooping as his tail followed suit. "...fine," he muttered a moment later. "Fine - let's get to the secure bunker, and then you can tell me what in the name of hell is going on here". The four pilots drew their sidearms, a little hesitantly, having never used them much beyond practice drills and routines. With the sound of guns drawing ever closer, and accompanied by the associated screams and shouts that made up the normal soundtrack of battle. Occasional explosions and the whoosh of rocket launchers and the persistent hammer of machineguns added to the din, and further raised the hackles on their necks. "Jesus Christ," hissed Taia, through clenched teeth, her ears flattened into the fiery orange of her hair. "Is it always this loud?" she said to Nina, who was close behind. The hyena was equally skittish, looking around at every sound as the four of them, with the General - who was unarmed - between them, hurried towards the multi-level building at the centre of the airbase, and the presumed safety of the bunker below it. "It's different being a pilot," muttered Max, his hands wrapped firmly around his Berettas' grip, the muzzle lowered, but twitching towards the sounds of battle. "You don't hear everything, all the explosions and all that shit. You just see it all happening, like it's happening to someone else..." "Come on," growled Nina, nodding towards the entrance of the building, and the two sandbagged machine-gun nests out the front. A company of US and German marines had formed a rag-tag group and were covering the door from every angle. "Let's get a move on!" They reached the edge of the buildings' wall, and crouched in cover; before Red nodded that the coast was clear. All rising to their feet, they sprinted across in a long line, waving as the ground forces swung to cover them, and then visibly relaxed as they saw the aircrew outfits, and Cunningham's uniform. The Marines and Bundeswehr soldiers waved them across with frantic arm motions, looking both ways down the street. The five ran across- And stopped short, as a formation of Iranian soldiers rounded the corner, raising their rifles and opening fire with the crackling chatter of automatic weapons fire. Bullets sizzled and hissed through the air, and the pilots dived to the ground. Around them, the US Marines and their German allies opened fire in return. Men yelled and screamed as bullets found their mark. Taia, Nina and the other kept very still as rounds flew over their heads. A hammering chatter started as one of the machine-gunners opened up with one of the M-249 Squad Automatic Weapons - SAWs - and mowed down a number of the attackers. Somebody roughly grabbed the back of Nina's survival vest, and she gave a yell of fear, rolling over and shoving the muzzle of her Browning Hi-Power toward whoever had grabbed ahold of her, only to relax when she saw the glaring face of one of the Marines. Nina lowered the pistol, feeling guilty as she did so, and the Bears' expression relented a little, as he offered his hand to her, and she hauled herself to her feet. Around her, the others climbed back to their feet, as the Marines and German soldiers quickly crossed to the Iranian soldiers and began to check on their status. "Inside!" Growled the Marine sergeant, glowering from under the brim of his helmet, an M4 pointed skyward in one hand, the other jabbing toward the door meaningfully. Nina nodded rapidly, and trotted toward the door. A glance over her shoulder affirmed the others were close behind, and she opened her muzzle to speak. The next thing she knew, she was on her back, after having been body-checked by the hand of a giant. Her vision swum and her ears rang as she coughed air back into her lungs, rolling onto one side. Blinking tears out of her eyes and blinking dust away, she shook her head and tried to make sense of what was going on. Voices shouted and sounds thundered and chattered around her, before she was helped up to her feet, and shoved behind the sandbag barricade - which seemed to be a lot shorter than it was a few moments earlier. "Nina! Nina!" yelled a voice that managed to push its' way through the murk in her ears, and made sense. She focused on the face in front of her, which resolved into Red's handsome, if worried face. As he saw her take notice, the kangaroo ducked behind the sandbags, before popping up and levelling his pistol over the barricade, firing twice in rapid succession and ducking back down. "What the hell was that?" she said, yelling over the noise. "You're yelling," he said, turning her head gently to examine her large, black-furred ears. "The explosion must have affected hearing. It was an RPG, fired at the building. It hit the sandbags, and blew most of the marines and the Germans away. More bloody Iranians!" "Shite," muttered the Hyena, rolling onto her knees, and poking her muzzle around the side of the sandbags. Taia, Max and General Cunningham had taken up a position around the doors, just inside the doorway. Cunningham had commandeered an M4 from one of the Marines, and was putting up a decent volume of fire, pinning the enemy in place, while Taia and Max were putting out the occasional shot, although mostly ducking as the hostiles poured gunfire onto the front of the ugly cement building. The remaining German and US soldiers had begun to arrange themselves, and were beginning to try and fight back - but the situation wasn't good. Nina was ready to join in, and then realised her Browning was gone. The explosion that had thrown her on her back had sent the gun off to parts unknown. She looked around quickly, but there was no sign of the weapon. However, one of the German soldiers' bodies was nearby. She firmly avoiding looking at the upper body of the poor soul, and instead grappled with the holster on his upper thigh, wrestling the big-framed USP pistol out of his holster, and dragging it back behind cover. Moments later, the ground she'd just been splayed over was riddled with bullets, and the chatter of another machine gun of some kind sounded in the distance. "Fuck these assholes!" she screamed, hunching down behind the sandbags, and examining the boxy, large pistol she now held. A quick examination worked out that a lever at the rear of the guns' frame was labelled with an 'S' and an 'F', which was probably the safety, at an educated guess. She flicked it to 'F', which was painted in red and again rolled onto her stomach and pointed the gun ahead of her, around the side of the sandbags. A small group of men in tan camouflage had bunkered up around the corner of the 'street' formed by the admin buildings for the base. A half-wrecked Hummvee formed a barricade for them, and they were firing AK-style assault rifles and a light machine gun at the small group of defenders. More voices shouting in what sounded like an Arabic language could be heard nearby. Grimacing, she lined the front and rear sights up on the nearest, a jackal, and opened fire, yelling wordlessly as she did. The big handgun bucked in her grip, the slide on the gun cycling back and forth rapidly and smoothly. The jackal crumpled as red flowers exploded to life on his torso, and he fell forward into the dust. Around him, the others intensified their firepower, as others picked grenades off of their webbing and wound their arms back to throw them towards the building. "Move! Get inside, now!" Yelled one of the surviving Marines, his rifle kept firmly at his shoulder, and pouring gunfire toward the enemy. But none of them wanted to turn their backs, or to let up on the enemy firing toward them. Nina fired again, claiming another enemy, along with Reds' more accurate shooting, before the Kangaroo's yell of 'I'm out!' and ducking behind the barricade to reload. A yell from Max followed quick, as the Wolverine ducked into the doorway, a bullet having grazed his right hand. The USPs' slide locked back, and Nina rolled back into cover, fumbling to released the guns' empty magazine, unfamiliar with the controls and layout of the gun. Finally, she found a little lever at the bottom of the trigger guard, which when pushed down made the magazine fall out of the guns' grip. But even so; the remaining ammunition was on the body of the dead German man, out in the open. Giving a sob of frustrated anger, she fell back against the sandbags alongside Red. "I hate this buggering about on the ground," she declared with an angry snarl, wiping streaks of mud and dirt from her black-spotted grey fur, and looking to her WSO and friend as he nodded in sympathy, his long muzzle also twisted in a similar expression. "If we get out of this, though, I'm definitely going to have a lot more bloody respect for the army". "Too right," the kangaroo agreed with a sigh. "Now if we could get ourselves out of this bloody tangle". Nina ran her hands over her survival vest, looking for anything that might help, as Red did the same. All of their equipment had been returned to the survival shop after they'd landed, and before their debriefing. She looked about for anything else nearby that could be of use - and came up with nothing. "That's it," she said with a note of defeat in her voice, pressing her palms to her eyes. "They've-" She was cut off as a clattering of rotors sounded from overhead, and the shape of a Blackhawk swung into view around the corner of the central admin block like an avenging angel. The chopper swung into a hover, and Nina could just make out, in the light spilling up from the ground and the fires that had started, the door gunner, and a quartet of airmen with a motley variety of weaponry. With a high-pitched whine, barely audible against the oppressive thudding of the Blackhawks' rotors, the minigun in the Blackhawks' window opened fire, pouring a withering stream of bullets into the enemy position, the airmen in the open doorway adding to it with rifles. The rate of fire from the minigun was so utterly intense, with so many tracers firing per second that it looked almost like a laser beam slicing out of the skies to hit the ground troops. Nina was almost revolted at the effect as the Gatling weapon targeted the men. They were shredded apart in the storm of bullets, the wrecked vehicle faring little better, bucking and shuddering under the unrelenting storm, which cut off as the enemies fell dead. The chopper wheeled in the air, and pulled away, heading for another area of the base. Nina looked at Red, and then slowly climbed to her feet from her knees, staggering alongside the kangaroo towards the door of the command centre. Taia and the General were waiting, along with Max whose hand was now wrapped in a bandage. The General opened the first nearby door, and they collapsed inside, the General looking at the M4 carbine in his hands as if he was surprised it was there, before shaking his head slowly and leaning it against the side of a table. He sunk into a chair and gave a long sigh, after a pause. The others leaned against the walls, Max sinking into the other chair, and wiping one hand across his face, looking around at the others. "Well," said the General after a moment, looking around at them all, tiredness in his voice. "Now that we've made it here, why don't you give me a short rundown on exactly what it is that happened out there?" The four looked at each other, and with a long sigh of breath, Taia straightened up, and sat down atop a small set of drawers on one side of the room, and began to explain what had happened. One by one, the others took over various parts of the story, filling in all the details as they went. Once or twice, the General paused to get clarification on what had happened, his expression growing more concerned as they spoke and filled in the details. Almost an hour had passed by the time they had relayed all the details, and there was a knock at the door. They exchanged a surprised glance, and Cunningham called out, remaining in his seat. "Come in". The door opened, and a Marine stepped in. None of the rest recognised him, and the heavily built badger gave them all an impassive glance as he stepped into the room. His rank insignia made him out to be a Sergeant, and the dust and grime on his outfit showed he'd been out in the fighting. "What is it, Sergeant?" asked the General, his hands folded on the desk. "I didn't call for anyone. How did you know where I was?" "Colonel Makepeace asked me to find you, sir. He said that there's been some activity near the airstrip, and that I should escort these personnel there right away." The General frowned and glanced at the others, before replying. "Colonel Makepeace? Why would he want these people there? If there's been a disturbance, the security personnel can take care of it. And the base isn't locked down yet". As the conversation continued, Nina's eyes checked over the Marine, just like they would over any newcomer to the room - and then froze on the holster at his thigh. The retaining strap on his plastic holster was loose and undone, and the safety on the Beretta inside was off, his hand dangling near the butt of the gun. And now, listening to him speaking and the questions he'd asked... she felt her muzzle go dry. "You see sir; I'm just supposed to escort them there, under orders from the colonel. To identify a body, it might be one of their wingmen, one of the ones who were shot down-" "Marine, that news isn't public yet. And why would a Marine know about something that happened to air force personnel-" The badger went for his gun, but at the same moment, Max and Red piled into him from both sides, while Nina scrabbled for the M9, managing to pull it from his holster as the two men pinned the Badger to the deck. Taia stood over him a moment later, with the muzzle of her pistol inches from the bridge of his nose, while Cunningham marched around the desk and yelled into the corridor for a security detail. The badger fidgeted and struggled under the weight of the three pilots, a snarling, angry look on his face which died away as Taia thumbed back the hammer on her Beretta. "Now, now," she growled, her ears flattened back to her skull. "Why don't you sit there, like a good boy, and when the security police turn up, we can have a nice long conversation, and you can explain to us who sent you to kill us, all right?"

TO BE CONTINUED

Glossary:

A-10: Also known as the 'Thunderbolt' and the nickname 'Warthog'. The A-10 is an aircraft designed especially for the support of ground forces at low altitudes and short-range. It is a heavily armoured and highly survivable aircraft, as well as carrying a large amount of weaponry for ground attacks. It has a distinctive shape with twin rectangular tails, a narrow fuselage, and low, straight wings, all of which give it excellent flight characteristics for low, slow flight in attacking ground-based forces and targets.

AK: Originally referring to the AK-47, the first widely-spread assault rifle; a very reliable, robust, and deadly weapon, used by all manner of forces across the world, both legitimate and criminal. Weapons developed from the original AK-47 are still in use today, and still exhibit the same characteristics that made the AK-47 popular. The AK abbreviation refers to Avtomat Kaloshnikova, The Russian designation for the weapon.

AWACS: Airborne Warning And Control System. Used to describe an aircraft that uses a powerful radar to monitor friendly and hostile forces in an airspace, and then provide them with orders, advice, and information to assist in their duties. AWACS craft have powerful enough radar to monitor aerial, land, and sea-surface targets, making them very valuable, and very tempting targets for enemy forces. Most AWAC aircraft are converted airliners or transport planes.

Blackhawk: UH-60 Blackhawk, a transport and utility helicopter manufactured and designed in the US originally, and now used by a number of military and civil organizations around the world. Capable of carrying a large number of troops, as well as being equipped with a number of weapons, such as machine guns, cannon, rockets and missiles.

Browning Hi-Power: A semi-automatic pistol firing 9mm rounds. Designed and developed by John Browning, one of the world's most respected weapons designers. The Browning HP was developed between the first and second world wars, and is still in use and production today by countries and organizations all around the world.

C-130 Hercules: A transport aircraft with four propeller engines. It has a high, straight wing, and a bulbous fuselage that leads to its nickname 'fat albert'. C-130's are used by dozens, if not hundreds, of military and civilian operators across the world, and are vital in hauling personnel and machinery all over the world. There are dozens of variants, performing all manner of jobs in all manner of environments.

E-3 Sentry: An AWACS plane developed from the Boeing 707 airliner. With updated engines and flight systems, the E-3 is one of the best AWACS aircraft in the world. It has a large crew of specialists to control the battle space around the aircraft, and direct the flow of a conflict. Many nations around the world use the E-3, as well as a 'pool' of the aircraft operated on behalf of NATO.

Eurofighter Typhoon: A cutting-edge aircraft designed and manufactured by a consortium of European nations, and used in several air forces around the world. The Typhoon features a host of advanced flight-control systems, as well as other advanced design features and a huge arsenal of weapons that make it a deadly threat to any target on the battlefield. While not a 'stealth' aircraft like the Raptor, it can carry a much larger load of weaponry, and is comparable in agility and power. It has a distinctive triangular 'delta' wing shape, with a single fin and small canard wings.

GPS: Global Positioning System. A navigation and location-finding system that uses a system of satellites to triangulate the position of a user on the Earth's surface; the system is highly accurate to within a few meters of any location, and can be used to guide weapons onto a target, as well as for finding ones' way to a location, and fixing a position.

J-17: A Chinese licensed production version of the Russian SU-27 Flanker aircraft; a highly advanced and deadly aircraft.

Kh-31: A long-range air-to-air missile, designed to fly at high speeds, and to home in on the powerful radar signals transmitted by AWACS aircraft.

KIA: Killed In Action

MIA: Missing In Action

M4: The M4 is a carbine - or shortened - version of the M16 assault rifle. Originally developed for use by Special Forces and support personnel, it was later widely adopted for use by other forces due to it's smaller size making it much easier to use. It can also be fitted with a wide range of accessories, such as scopes, lights, grips and even grenade launchers and shotguns.

M9: Also known as the 'M92' or simply the 'Beretta', after the manufacturer of this handgun. It is a standard, semi-automatic pistol, and is currently standard-issue to all US ground forces, as well as a number of police and military forces around the world.

Minigun: A weapon with multiple rotating barrels, allowing it to pour out massive and terrifying amounts of firepower. A scaled down version of the M-61 Vulcan cannon, which leads to its' name. The Minigun is often used on vehicles and helicopters, and fires the same-sized round as the SAW and most assault rifles, and is devastating to infantry and lightly armoured vehicles.

RPG: Rocket Propelled Grenade. Usually used in reference to the RPG-7, a light anti-tank and anti-armour weapon formerly used by the Soviet Union, and adopted by all manner of groups around the world since.

SAW: Squad Automatic Weapons, or the M249. A 5.56mm calibre man-portable light machine-gun. Used to pin down enemy forces, and usually carried one to a squad of infantry or a fire-team of men. Uses the same calibre ammunition as most assault rifles, for ease of logistics, as well as being a proven round in combat.

USP: Universal Self-loading Pistol. A large, .45 calibre pistol manufactured by the German manufacturer Heckler & Koch. A very powerful, modern weapon, made of plastics and light-weight materials. Standard issue to the Bundeswehr, the German Armed Forces.

USAF: United States Air Force

V-22 Osprey: An aircraft that is designed to operate as both a helicopter and an aeroplane, by being able to rotate the propeller engines at the end of its' wings through 90 degrees. It can take off and land vertically when the rotors are in the vertical position, and then fly at aeroplane-like speeds and with aeroplane characteristics when they are in horizontal position. The aircraft can also carry a sizeable amount of cargo due to it's medium size.