FSE

Furry search engine

formerly SoFurry search engine

Wylde Fyre

By Stephen Doyle

Barry Roberts and all associated characters belong to Direwolf505, and are used with his permission. Please check out his work on FurAffinity!

---

Chapter Ten

August 26th 2017 Lajes Air Force Base Terceira Island, Azores 18:30pm

Sean had reported to the Doctor, who had reported him fit for duty - and was amazed at how quickly he'd adapted - and advised him to go out and explore his newfound senses, albeit carefully. He'd reported the same to Rebecca, who had advised that he'd be signed up for flight checkout tomorrow, bright and early, as well as general checkout and training. And in the meantime, she had some other arrivals to attend to - and to enjoy himself with the others. He'd taken that to heart, and had rounded up the Squadron, informing them to 'find a bar, and meet me at it'. That done, he'd showered, changed into a new set of clothes - which felt like a new skin, by this time - and then received a message from Taia with the address of the bar on it. It was outside the base, and in the town nearby. As such, he made his way toward the motor pool, and hitched a ride with a bunch of mechanics who were heading from Lajes base to the naval anchorage down the coast. Riding in the open-topped Hummvee, in the passenger seats in the flatbed back was a hell of a liberating experience with the clarity and sharpness his new senses gave him. He could feel the wind blowing through his short-cropped, grey-streaked brown hair, hear the engine snarling in the Hummvee and the rush of the wind. All the scents carried on the wind were sharper too. The three men and woman in the seats of the Hummvee, and their individual markers and distinctive olfactory cues; the thick scent of the motor oil, fuel, metals and plastics of the vehicle and the heavy scent of the other vehicles on the road around him, all under laid by the exotic odours of the plants on the island. Every one of those things he could pick out, and focus on. And even when not focused on them directly, he was aware of them. The moving traffic or the swaying palms at the sides of the road. The crash and hiss of lapping waves, and the shrill grumble of a Vespa as it weaved through the traffic and past the Hummvee. It should've been overpowering, and a cascade of information; but the enhancements to his genetics had somehow made it able to be processed and understood, to allow him to sort and order all the spectacular sensory deluge and make it into something usable. The desert-tan Hummvee pulled over alongside a small group of buildings, beyond the base fence and co-located airport but close to the end of the runway on the flight path. The town of Lajes started proper a few miles or so down the road, and only a handful of houses, a convenience store and a gas station clustered around a gravelled parking lot at the front of the bar. The building was a wood-framed, single storey building with a shallow pointed roof, and a porch-type area running all the way around. It even apparently stretched to the rear, which faced onto the nearby ocean. A flickering lit-up neon light, in pure 80's kitsch, declared the place to be 'The Airstrip Bar And Grill'. It wasn't much to look out from outside - some wilted plants in plastic planters choked with cigarette butts stood on either side of the door, and under the slightly grimy windows. Most of the paint on the once-cheerful wooden cladding had chipped away, or simply worn off over time, and the roof tarpaper was tatty around the edges; but going by the number of cars in the lot, and the crowd of patrons around the tables on the timber decks at the sides of the bar. The fox hopped down from the rear of the truck, giving a wave of thanks and a grin, his tail wagging as the other guys and gal waved back and called out as the hummer pulled away with a grumble of its' powerful engine. Sean grinned and ambled up to the screen door, and pushed. As the door swung open, a blast of sound intruded into the relative quiet of the early evening. Mingled voices in the hubbub of conversation of a half-dozen accents and languages, the sounds of dining and the crash of music from an ancient jukebox in one corner. The sound closed around him as he stepped in, bringing with it the air heavy with the scents of stale beer, bar food, the close mingle of bodies, and cheap cleaning products. It wasn't a classy joint of any kind; not high-end or upmarket. It was pretty much a dive. Not sleazy, so much; just more a down-to-earth, honest place. The tables were mostly clean, with a little graffiti etched into them. Some of the varnished floorboards were a little sticky, and the chairs had plenty of wobbly legs, with maybe only one that had all four legs touching the floor at the same time. But it made up for the griminess with the amount of fascinating memorabilia on the walls. Photos of old units from the airbase and airport, relics and scavenged materials washed up on the beach, or donated by people who'd worked on base. It was all affixed to the walls around the place. The vulpine was fascinated as he walked further in, admiring the objects on display, before tearing his attention away and glancing around to find the gang, and spied Red waving him over toward a table at the back of the place, in one of the dingier areas. He threaded his way between people, and slid into one of the rickety seats around the table, narrowly skirting one booted foot around a patch of indeterminate liquid. "Sean," said Max with a grin. "You're looking pretty perky," he exchanged an amused glance with the others around the table, "...no sickness, headaches?" "Yeah," continued Red, the big 'roo grinning widely. "No loss of appetite, no need to run to the bathroom...?" Taia and Nina chuckled, exchanging glances with the others, as Sean's ears flattened, and he looked queasy for a few moment, his stomach gurgling. He gave a rueful smile, as they all chuckled quietly. "All right, laugh it up, chuckleheads, I've been through the same awful thing you have. So it's time to celebrate, and I need to eat something!" "Well," Taia replied, sliding a menu across the table, "This place, despite being an armpit, comes recommended by the base staff. Might be because it's cheap, and they don't believe in measures for the drinks. And all the chow is cooked on a grill out the back on the balcony!" Sean gave an appreciative smile, his tail wagging as he looked over the menu. By this point, everything looked amazing and appetising, given he'd been more or less starved for the last twenty-four hours. Eventually, he decided on a 'fully-loaded' half-pound burger. Fully-loaded was appropriate, seeing as how it was topped with mozzarella cheese, bacon, a fried egg, BBQ sauce, wholegrain mustard, deep-fried onion rings, and topped off with mushrooms and onions. A side of fries and sour cream dip rounded it out, and Sean opted for a JD on the rocks, and a cherry coke to wash it all down. The others went for similarly sized and portioned meals, and as chatter began to bubble up from the group, Sean felt himself ease into the evening. It was, pretty much, ideal. However, he was jerked back to the reality of things as his smartphone began to vibrate in his thigh pocket. Grimacing, he excused himself from the discussion, reluctantly removing his hand from Nina's, and stood in a corner out of the way as he tapped the screen to answer, noting it was Rebecca. "Hey, what's up?" he answered casually, glancing at the memorabilia on the walls. Close up, it was significantly less impressive than it looked at first glance. Most of it was reproduced, or tatty and unloved. Some of the frames or cases were even empty, having been vandalised or stolen. "Sean," replied Rebecca in a customary cool tone. "I'm glad you're feeling better. I got your invite, but I'm sorry to say I can't join you all." "Ah, that's too bad, hun," he replied. Despite his misgivings about Rebecca, he would've liked her to be there to at least loosen up a little. She'd been pretty fun when they'd first met. Perhaps a night in the bar might loosen the stick so firmly embedded in her- "I've met up with some allies of ours - I thought I'd send them your way, so you can meet up and maybe exchange some ideas and strategies. They should be arriving any time soon..." "Can y'all give me a hint who I oughta be looking out for? Makes it hard to tell otherwise, anyone could show up an' I might not recognise 'em". There was a soft chuckle on the other end before the Rough Collie continued. "You mean your newly sharpened fighter pilot senses won't let you work it out? How disappointing". "Nah, I just like to make you feel like you're actually in charge. And I know how much you love those briefings and speeches of yours" "Touché, and well said. Barry Roberts and his team are the people you're looking for. He's a grey wolf, with an eye patch, same side as you. He's got a team of six, him included. They're a mixed bunch. All good operators and professionals, and good people too, from what I've seen." "What do they do? Are they more pilots, another squadron?" he asked, interested in this new group that was being sent to them. More allies and friends would be useful, and if they knew their business already, so much the better. "I believe Mister Roberts has some experience as a pilot, but primarily they're a ground operations group, extremely capable and skilled in what they do. I'd let them explain, I'm sure they can teach you a few things, and perhaps vice versa. I imagine they ought to be arriving shortly. I take it you're in the Airstrip?" Sean raised an eyebrow, glancing at the door. The view was blocked by the crowd, which seemed to have grown even in the short time he'd been in the place. "How did you know?" he asked. "I didn't know where we were goin' when I sent you the invite". "Only place around here worth going," she replied simply. "The lounge at the airport is hardly a thriving party spot. And there's not really anywhere else for miles. Anyhow, I should go. Speak to you tomorrow for your check flights.... don't get too drunk". Before he could reply, the line went dead, and he pocketed the phone, heading back to the table. The others looked at him expectantly as he sat back down and noted with relish his meal had arrived - it looked every bit as mouth-watering as the menu had suggested. The glass of JD that had materialised next to it didn't hurt either. "We've got some company coming," he said, wolfing down a forkful of fries. "Not the bad kind, the good kind," he added quickly. "Not the other kind. Rebecca sent 'em our way, they might be good to chat to about tactics, and some training for ground stuff. Since, well, we don't have any particular skill in that". "Speak for yourself," said Taia with a grin, her tail twitching. "My dear ol' dad taught me everything I need to know about shooting". "Show-off," said Sean with a smile, taking a bite of his burger. As he did so, he paused, his eyes widening. "Uh-oh," said Red, leaning onto the table. "I think he might've overloaded on food, or-" Max shook his head, and held up a hand. Sean held the same expression for a moment, before he groaned in pleasure. "Oh. My. God. This isn't a burger, it's one of the burgers, one of those rare ones that is exactly how it's supposed to be on the menu photos. It's... almost perfect!" The wolverine grinned and the others followed suit, tucking into their meals as well, and enjoying them with the same relish on their muzzles as their leader. The happy sounds of eating were all that could be heard for a few moments, along with the occasional gasp of breath or satisfaction as the squadron took gulps of drink or bites of food. With their attention so focused on dinner, no one paid attention to the door opening and closing as people came and went, especially with the bar growing busier in the early evening. Even as delicious as the meal was (and given the wringer he'd been through in the previous twenty-four hours, it was especially delicious), his newly enhanced senses of the world around him couldn't help noticing the sudden ripple that went through the crowd as the door opened and closed. It wasn't aggressive, or especially fearful, as much as a wave of surprise and interest. Reluctantly and with a sigh, the vulpine put down his burger and took another gulp of his Jack Daniel's before turning his eye the way of the disturbance, half-expecting what would be there. Around the table the others followed suit.

As soon as Seans' gaze fell on the group moving through the crowd, he knew they were who he was expecting. The wolf at the front had ash-grey fur, and a patch over his left eye. Exactly the same as he did, actually. He was also similarly clad in functional, hard-wearing attire, over a compact yet tough-looking body, and his face was similarly rugged and hardened by the years and scars. It was, in fact, a bit like looking into a colour-changed mirror. The group behind him though, were anything but similar to his crew. For a start, and surprisingly, they were mostly female; bar the wolf and a very short mouse, who looked around eagerly as they headed for Seans' table. A huge female badger, who was incredibly powerfully muscular, to the point of making even Red look like a casual work-out enthusiast, was at the rear. Even with her musculature, the size of her bust made it plainly obvious that she was female. Coupled with the elegant lines of her face, and the way she moved, it was quite impossible to make her out as anything but a woman. Whatever softness that might've implied was defused by her wearing her dirty-blond hair pulled back, and the cold, hard expression on her face. At her side almost like a shadow walked a very slinky, sleek and smiley ferret, with a bright and inquisitive look about her as she walked alongside her friend and colleague. Compared to the badgers' six-foot-plus height, she couldn't have been more than five feet tall - although that still made her a good head taller than the mouse. If she'd been a shadow, then the black furred vixen he next laid eyes on was the night itself. Her fur was a rich, sleek black. As she moved, it was with quiet conservation of movement and smooth motions, the practiced, easy walk of someone who had the skills of stealth ingrained in them to the core. Despite this though, she had a quiet smile on her face, and in her eyes. She gave a soft nod as she made eye contact with him, and her smile widened momentarily. Finally, as the group drew up level with the table and Seans' people stood following his lead, the last member of the group folded her arms under her large bosom and nodded to him. She was evidently part fox, part wolf from her exotic features. Her fur was smoke grey and stark white, making her different-coloured eyes stand out even more; the left being green and right being blue. Only adding to her exotic and unique appearance were the multiple piercings in both ears, glittering under the murky light of the bar. "Barry Roberts, I presume?" said Sean after a moment, bringing his attention back to the Wolf at the front. He peered at the wolf, who did the same, leaning back and folding his arms. Sean did the same, and they both studied each other with slight amused smiles on their muzzles. "Huh," said Sean after a moment, studying Barry's eye patch, the scars, the wolves' build and clothing, and general appearance. "Ayup," said Barry back with a similar smile, raising his eyebrow and rubbing the underside of his muzzle with one thumb. Around them, the two teams had spread out into a mingled circle, looking intently at the two canids with a mixture of curiosity and fascination. "Wow," said Nina after a moment. "It's... uncanny" "Yeah," remarked Sarah, standing next to her. "I'd almost say I was seeing double." "They do say everyone has a double," remarked Phil, raising an eyebrow. "Yeah, but it's not like they look exactly the same," replied Max, mirroring Phil's expression of a raised eyebrow with his own, and a glass of brandy in one had. He sniffed at it as he looked on with amusement. "Boize-moi," exclaimed Sasha with a groan. "Is two of Barry? We do twice as much hard work!" "For half as much pay," said Taia with a smirk, elbowing the Russian vixen. "I wonder how close they are otherwise, like, scars in the same place, or tattoos, or-" "There are two of them," said Thistle, her soft, sweet voice cutting through the discussion, and a slow smile spreading across her muzzle. "Now I've seen everything", she declared with a measured nod. Everyone paused, and there was a moment of quiet as the two men looked hard at each other, before finally both their muzzles cracked into wide smiles. Sean stuck his hand out, and Barry grabbed it with a firm grip. They shook hard and sure, before twisting the shake into a grip around each others thumbs and palms. "Sean Blade," said Barry as they all squeezed into the booth seat. With the six of Barry's team, it was much, much cosier than a moment ago. With both Red and Thistle to contend with for space, there were a lot of wedged-in elbows and knees, and stepping on each others' feet and tails. "Heard you might be lookin' for some support in a mission, an' maybe a little 'how-to' course here and there". Sean gave a nod and a smile, tilting his drink to his muzzle. The wolf's voice was gruff, deep and steady. He didn't have the same southern twang as Sean, although there was a hint of it in there, just not as strong as Sean's definitive accent. "Well, that's about right", replied the fox, his single eye glancing around the bar, before looking back to Barry, who was now seated next to him. Like the others, they were wedged more-or-less together. "We're all pretty good with our flyin', if I do say so myself. Which I do, since these fine folks-" he jerked a thumb at the rest of the squadron, who by now were engaged in conversation with the rest of Barry's team about all manner of subjects, or stealing their fries. "-Managed to save my rust-furred ass from being spread over several square miles of Tajikistan recently". Barry nodded in appreciation. "Ayup, heard a thing or two 'bout that actually. And I done some flyin' in my time too". He tapped an F-15 patch on Sean's jacket and nodded. "Flew the same birds as you, once or twice too, though some CAS and air-to-mud stuff too; so I know what it's like when shit goes down". "Sure, so y'all heard about my draggin' my tail through the desert an' all. Course, what y'all didn't hear about was my runnin' like hell from any encounters with the enemy, and hidin' in holes and waitin' for them to go the hell away instead of tryin' to take them out. And the others here got involved in a little skirmish back in the sandbox too, with some unfriendly folks. They did okay, but still - reckon we can all do with a little training too, just in case". He squirmed uncomfortably and then gave a grimace. "Y'know, maybe we oughta head out to the balcony? Might be a shade more comfortable, than this little snuggle we got goin' on here". Barry smirked and nodded. "Sounds like a good one. Maybe we can get to the bar on the way out, too". Sean nodded, and the group wiggled out of their places, and came to a mass halt in front of the bar, crowding in. For a moment, the bar staff was overwhelmed by a flurry of orders, before the group swept onward with their hands full of their various preferred beverages.

Outside things were much calmer and quieter, with the gentle hiss of lapping waves as a background counterpoint to the murmur of voices and occasional laughter. Barry and Sean found a length of free railing, leaning against it. Sean set his glass down atop it, while Barry rested a bottle of root beer on the railing. Both reached into their jackets - Sean pausing momentarily as he caught sight of a holster pistol under Barry's before shrugging and nodding - and pulled out, respectively, a cigar and a packet of cigarettes. Sean held out his battered Zippo to Barry, who growled a thanks as he lit his smoke, holding the lighter for Sean to light his cigar. "So," the wolf said after a drag on his cigarette, and a blow of smoke into the air. "There's a mission too?" "Maybe," said the fox after blowing out a drag from the cigar, and watching the smoke curl away into the dusk. "Or rather, there is, yeah. But so far, I don't got any of the details. Seems like if 'Becca told y'all you might be needed, then maybe stickin' around might not be a bad plan. 'Sides which," he hesitated. "'Sides which," he continued carefully, "It might be handy havin' a couple of friends around". He looked at the wolf, who was already looking back. "Think I get yer drift," he replied with a nod. "I've worked with Marcus before, got him out of a tight spot, once upon a time". The wolf took another drag of his smoke, the tip glowing cherry-red in the dimming light. The sky rumbled as an airliner passed low over the bar on approach to Lajes. "Well, he covered for us. And we found out some about the people he was fightin' too. Sounded like people who didn't go around spreading love and happiness exactly, so I wasn't too cut up about solvin' their problem. But something about Marcus and the guys he was with didn't sit too right with us. So yeah - we got yer backs if anythin' goes down. Seems like ya might be decent folk to have around, and yer honest about what's goin' down" he turned around and leaned on the rail with his elbows and grinned at the two mixed squads, who were now chatting openly and energetically. Almost everyone was involved in the shenanigans, in some way or another. Phil and Max were frantically chatting back and forth at one another, about something that was obviously exciting to both. Nadia, Sarah and Nina were engrossed in whatever Red and Taia were arguing about at length, butting in occasionally with comments, questions, and their own anecdotes to add, while Sasha and Thistle looked on in amusement, the Russian occasionally laughing, while the badger simple sat back with a small smile on her muzzle, studying the scene with a measured, detached calm air. "Looks like they've all managed to get along well enough already," remarked Sean with a grin, following the scene. "Seems like a good omen to me". "Yeah, man" replied Barry with a grin of his own. "C'mon. Let's go join 'em. The rest of this can wait 'til tomorrow".

August 27th

2017 Lajes Air Force Base Terceira Island, Azores 12:30pm

Sean and the others had left at an early hour last night, rather than dragging things out. Everyone had broken off the group as they'd returned to the base, Barry and his group heading to temporary quarters, while the others ambled back to their own places. He had ended up in Nina's place, with not really a discussion so much as it kind of ending up that way with a few half-said, shy questions about coming in, or stopping over, since he'd crashed at her place. After that, ending up in bed together had equally been inevitable. Unlike their last encounter, this time had been slower, gentler, and more intimate; as opposed to the hungry, lustful coupling they'd shared after the party. They'd talked afterward, curled in each others embrace in the humid, sticky night on her large, soft bed. They'd shared doubts and fears about the world they'd found themselves in, a world of strange pasts and presents and a world full of secretive societies with sinister goals and hidden agendas. And they'd shared the worry that their attachment might've come from the history they'd seen and shared, whether what they felt and shared was true, or whether it was their reaction to the things they'd experienced together. Whatever the cause, they'd decided not to think about it too hard, or in too much depth, and enjoy it for what it was. The thought of that had energised him as he'd woke that morning, and added to the excitement he'd already had about getting back into the saddle again. Now it sang in his veins. He'd sat the written tests earlier that day, passing with soaring colours, and had done the same in a verbal examination. Both had confirmed his certification back into flight, and had proved he'd studied the tech orders for the enhanced F-15 that he'd be flying. He'd spent the days since he'd seen the mighty machine checking over the paperwork in every minute he had, and had some idea of what the refitted plane was supposed to be capable of at least. Nothing though, would compare to hands-on with the merchandise. Now, he finished adjusting the last straps of his G-suit and survival vest over his brand-new black Avalon Institute flight suit, which fit like a glove. The slick-looking ensemble was finished off with his own flair - he'd kept his old flight boots, scuffed and battered as they were, and given them a rigid polishing to restore their lustre. Unfortunately, his old helmet hadn't survived his post-ejection experience, and even if it had, it wouldn't have helped him now anyway. The new plane had it's own enhanced HUD and Helmet-mounted displays, leading to the need for a proprietary helmet for the F-15X. As he was passed the new brain-bucket, he tucked his nomex gloves into one of the survival vests' pockets and turned over the helmet in both hands. The reflective golden visor gleamed back at him, the rest of the helmet a dull olive-black in colour, with leads plugs dangling from the side, ready to be jacked into the planes' systems. The oxygen mask was the same as ever, if a little more angular-looking. He bundled both into a helmet-bag, and after a few words of small-talk and good-lucks with the flight operations crew, Sean bumped fists with the leader of flight outfitters, and headed out.

Sean had been surprised to find instead of a Hummer, there was a Mercedes-Benz G-Wagen. The German-made SUV was one of the military utility use versions with an open top and back. A roll cage divided the back cargo area and benches from the driver and passenger seat. The ground crew chief honked the horn lightly and waved to Sean, while another of his team grinned and waved from the passenger seat. Sean gave a wave back to the squirrel and Doberman as he trotted across and slung his helmet bag into the back before vaulting up to follow it himself. Sean took a seat on one of the bench-like seats along the side of the rear open bed. He patted the side of the G-wagen with a smile. This example of the German-built SUV was painted a sun-baked, faded, grey that revealed lettering and rectangular spaces where old markings for insignia had been removed.

As the vehicle zipped along steadily out onto the baking-hot apron, Sean couldn't help but allow a wide grin to spread onto his muzzle. Ahead, he'd caught sight of the sleek shapes of the two enhanced F-15's and the larger, but no less sleek and predatory form of the F-111 alongside them. Sean stood up in the back of the hummer, grasping onto the rollbar and looking on eagerly at the trio, and then craned his neck as another aircraft gleamed under the sunlight beyond them, revealed as the crew chief swung the car around and pulled to gentle halt. Sean thanked the Crew Chief over the vacuum cleaner whine of APUs', and kept his single eye fixed on the aircraft ahead as he walked across the tarmac. Less of a sleek dart than the three combat aircraft, it instead had more of a rotund appearance, with straight high-mounted wings, and turbofan engines like those of a passenger aircraft. Instead of a canopy cockpit, it had a cabin and windscreen again similar to a cargo plane or jet airliner. Looking it over, he recognised the plane - it was a Lockheed Martin S-3 Viking. Or at least, it had been once upon a time. Like the other jets of the squadron, it had received modifications - the tail, rather than being a single tall rudder and horizontal stabilizers, was now a flat pair of stabilizers with twin 'endplate' style fins. Even more radically and notably, the aircraft carried a long, large rectangular box-like apparatus on its' back, supported by four struts, the rear of it angled up more sharply. The front and back had angled corners, giving it strange appearance. A side door in the fuselage stood open, and the other aviators were gathered around it in the shade of the Vikings' wing against the glaring midday sun. His ears folded back as the whining sound of the APU starter-carts giving the aircraft power grew to a din as the Hummvee pulled up close. Yelling a 'thanks' over the din, he grabbed his helmet bag and jogged to the rest of the squadron. As he approached, Nina and the others gave waves and casual salutes, which he returned, before his gaze shifted to the faces he didn't recognise. Rachel stood with them, in a flight suit and survival gear that did nothing to hide her already shapely form, and he nodded to the vixen and received a brief warm smile in return, and a sharp, curt nod. The trio with her he didn't recognise. Next to Rachel was a slender, petite female porcupine. She had an athletic, slim appearance. Similar to Taia she showed evidence of a fit, active lifestyle, but lacked both the Cougars' muscle definition, or her more ample figure, instead having a more modest chest, but her hips were more prominent, and almost as defining as the shocking pink stripe dyed into the hair-like quills on her head, and the numerous piercings in her ears, along with one in her lower lip. She was also tall, around six feet overall, with long, slender limbs. As Sean looked into her cornflower-blue eyes she gave a grin and winked at the vulpine. Her smile was so infectious, he couldn't help but smile back. "Bonjour," she said in a musically accented voice. "Je m'appelle Charlotte Dubois, Commander," she continued in a slightly French-tinged Canadian accent. "I've heard a lot about you. It's a pleasure". She extended one slender hand, and he took her palm, shaking firmly. He nodded sideways to the Viking alongside them. "What instrument do you play in that little band?" he asked with a smile, looking up at the sturdy-looking little jet. "Co-pilot," she replied, patting the side of the jet. "Someone's got to watch what that bum's doing," she added, smirking at the stocky-built mongoose beside her, who waved her comment off with a smirk. "Ey, you'd miss it if I wasn't the pilot, chica," he said with a grin. The mongoose had a dance of mischief in his eyes, complimenting the sharp, angular features of his face and the constant smile on his muzzle. Despite his short, solid frame, he was still handsome and stylishly dressed - even with a flight suit and survival gear on. The Mongoose turned his smile on Sean, and thrust out his hand. "Hermano, pleased to meet you. Names' Chavez, Hector Chavez" as Sean took the offered hand and felt a firm grasp in reply, the mongoose continued. "Most folks call me 'heck', account of my crazy flyin' when I was in the navy". "US Navy?" he asked with a slight tilt of his head, tail twitching gently as he asked. "Did you fly Vikings for them too?" "Yeah, man," he replied with the grin still fixed in place. "Puerto Rican, joined the US Navy straight from school, and got into flyin' these 'fore the US retired 'em" he patted the side of the dumpy plane affectionately. "Even got into a couple of combat situations over in the sandbox; though they didn't get much press, it was still some of the most exciting flying I did while in the Turbo Squids. Though the brass didn't much appreciate it, so I got a honourable canning, and a job recommendation to the Institute from the Navy, which was about the best I could hope for!" "Well, glad you landed with us," Sean said with a smile and a wag of his tail. "And I look forward to seeing some of that fancy flying. Although, I don't know how much of it you'll get to do in this outfit; especially with that big old box on the top" "That big old box," cut in the Zebra who hadn't spoken yet, his South African accent very strong and firm as he spoke rapidly, "is a development of the Saab Erieye radar system, with appropriate Avalon specific enhancements, and is what's going to keep you ladies and gents from colliding with each other in mid-air, and from getting lost out there. Especially with me guiding you around too," he added, stepping forward with his arms crossed and a humoured smile on his long, equine muzzle. Again, he was tall, but with a strong, muscular build. Not ripped and massively muscular like Red, but more defined and wiry. He extended one thick-fingered hand, which Sean took in his own, noting the two fingers common to all the hoofed herbivores of the world. His grip was strong and firm, and he held onto the vulpines hand as he continued to introduce himself. "Unlike my friend here," he carried on, smiling still, "I am not an expert in the flying, but I do know that radar in and out. My job on the aircraft is to monitor the displays, and direct you guys to where your needed, and help you find your targets. I'm sure we'll be doing a lot of work together, yeah?" Sean, again, was overcome by the enthusiasm shown. The Zebra's accent only made his enthusiasm come across stronger, and he was almost like a sugar-rushing kid in his excitement as he still clasped hands with the vulpine. Sean detangled his fingers and gave a warm nod, patting the Zebra on the shoulder. "Can't wait, uh..." "Werner," he replied nodding eagerly. "Werner Van De Klerk, though my nickname is 'Van Man'" his ears flicked and his smile drooped. "I don't like it so much though," he added, stepping from foot to foot and fiddling with his fingers. "Who knows," said Sean with a shrug. "Maybe you'll earn a better one, eh?" "Maybe!" said the Zebra with a hopeful smile. "I hope so, man!" "Anyway," Nina butted in before the Zebra could get anymore of his fast-flowing words in, "I was under the impression that we were supposed to be doing some flying today?" "Quite right," said Rachel with a nod, her properly English accent cutting through, and the others looking to her. "After all, you're all far too overdue a flight test in these magnificent aircraft, and I'm sure you're all chomping at the bit to get back into the skies; so less delay, and more flying, hmm?" "You heard the lady," Sean called out over the noise. "Let's get strapped in, and go bore some holes in the sky!" The group dispersed to their respective aircraft, running through walk arounds and pre-flight checklists with practiced familiarity and aptitude, before scaling the short retractable ladders - also refits by Rachel's team to their aircraft, and a big improvement over the need for separate ladders - and strapping into their cockpits. Sean settled himself into the F-15's cockpit, cinching the straps tight, and then taking his helmet and settling it on his head as the ground crewman passed it to him. Already Sean had noted the more sleek and streamlined interior of the cockpit, and the brand-new instruments and systems that had replaced the old-style dials and gauges. Even the original display monitors had been replaced with new flat-screen, full colour monitors that flashed to life as the jets' onboard power came to life as he ran through the checklist. The whine of engines replaced the whine of the APU's, the low thro of power coursing through the jets' frame, and into his gloved hands. With it came the same electric tingle at the back of his mind. It was like a sense of familiarity, or belonging. Almost like being in a safe place, where you knew everything was, but at the same time like that sense of connection or belonging one got from a treasured pet, or even the cosy companionship of a friend. While the connection was strange, it was also welcome; bolstering his confidence in the aircraft, and making it seem familiar and though he'd flown it many times, despite never having even sat in the cockpit. Screens lit up and loaded in an eye-blink, as the engines whined and roared into full life. The helmets' onboard HUD lit up with symbols and readouts, and the foxes' fingers danced across screens and menus on the flat-panel display, configuring the system to his personal preferences. Following that, he held a switch with his pinkie finger, and spoke onto the clear transmission line. "Blades' up, all systems green; and I'm ready to roll, over". "Roger Blade," replied a voice from the control tower. It had the slightest hint of accent to it. "Head to the holding area for takeoff, and wait for your wingmen, and a final check by ground units, over" Sean clicked the mike as a sole response, and eased off the parking brakes as the crew chief gave him a thumbs-up, heading back for his vehicle. Around him, the others had lowered their canopies and they began to roll into a line behind the single-seat F-15, like a line of ducks following their mother. As he rolled onward, the canopy locked home with a slight hiss, sealing off the noise of the outside world, along with its' fresh air and breeze. Immediately the temperature seemed to climb as the sun beat ferociously down through the clear canopy. He panted briefly, gasping in the heat, before the internal air conditioning kicked in, and restored the temperature to a cool, comfortable level. The jet bobbed a little as it rolled over minor bumps in the taxiway to the runway. Sean couldn't help a grin as he felt the power of the jet surging through his hands. It was exciting to be back in the saddle, to have the power of this machine at his hands, and all it was capable of. It had been too long by far. The shiver along his spine, and electric tingle he'd felt since climbing in, that strange presence, rippled in response - and it was a pleasant feeling, almost as if something in the plane itself agreed with him. Across the base, and on the other side of the runway, eyes and heads turned to watch the procession of mismatched aircraft rolling toward the end of the runway, and then come to a slow halt as the crew chiefs' G-Wagen circled the planes, checking each for any unclosed access hatches, safety flags and pins that hadn't been removed, worn tires, or any other potentially dangerous things that could affect the plane before it could even get into the air. Sean looked down at the Chief as the SUV halted off to one side from the procession of aircraft, and the chief met his eyes, speaking into his radio headset. "Everything looks good. No problems to report on any of the aircraft, over". "Roger," replied Sean, his left forefinger tapping on the throttle in eager anticipation. There was a pause for a few moments as the tower, and he again looked back at the procession of aircraft behind him. Taia and Max were immediately right behind him in their F-15, with Nina and Red behind them, and the Viking behind the swing-wing F-111. He tapped over to the squadron frequency, looking at the planes behind him on the rear view camera, its' view on an inset box at the top of the main panel. "Ready to go drill holes in the sky, team; everything reading five-by-five, over?" A series of clicks and affirmatives reassured him that was the case, before the incoming tower transmission cleared them all to takeoff. Sean fed a little more go-juice to the engines, and the heavily modified Strike Eagle turned onto the runway centreline, the others following it. One by one they spread out into a staggered formation, taking positions down the runway to ensure they'd all be in the air at more or less the same instant. The quartet of aircraft came to a halt in two pairs, spaced almost evenly along the runway. The engine noise then grew to a din from the outside, but inside his cockpit all Sean heard was a growing rumble around him, which translated into a vibration coming up through the seat around him. Numbers rolled upward in the HUD on his visor, and he toed the parked brakes off, setting the plane rolling and gaining speed rapidly. The rumble became a grumbling roar, and he could feel his hearts' beat increase with the power of the engines, the electric excitement in him growing as the G's pushed him back into the ejector seat with a grunt. The speed rolled upward in flashing digital numbers, but he barely had an eye on them - he knew what the plane wanted, how it would be have. That presence coerced and coaxed him wordlessly; every gentle shudder and tremor of the aircraft, and every rushing grumble was its' language; all of it enough for him to give the gentlest of backward pressure to the side-stick in his right hand, and virtually float the jet off of the runway. Beside and behind him, the other three planes followed suit, the takeoffs not entirely simultaneous, but damnably near it, especially impressive given the lack of co-ordinated training the squadron had received. While the windows of the terminal building for the airport, and the base as a whole rattled with the roar of engines, the cheers and applause of the observers matched it in intensity, as the four Institute aircraft climbed into the sun, gleaming and glittering under its' bright gaze.

Landing gear folded into bays, and the four craft rearranged their formation, taking on a staggered line with Seans' plane at the leading edge, and the Viking trailing at the far end. A mile separated the leader from the last in line horizontally, and the spacing between each plane was almost half that again. With the sky as clear as it was, and the coverage provided by the powerful radar aboard the Viking, there was little to worry about colliding with, and the airspace over the open ocean around Terceira and the other Azores islands was far from congested. "All aircraft, let's proceed with the exercise as planned," called Rachel over the squadron channel. "Head to the designated testing area, and we'll begin." She paused and the group could virtually hear the smile in the vixens voice as she continued. "I guarantee you'll all enjoy putting your machines through their paces... and this won't be any kind of test you're used to, over!"

Sean grinned eagerly and hungrily at the prospect. Feeling the air beneath his wings, the reassuring rumble and throb of the aircraft around him, and the delicious tingle of excitement worming its' way along his spine, he couldn't wait to put the F-15X into action. Challenging flight tests? He licked his lips, and his tail thumped against the side of the ejector seat.

Bring it on!

TO BE CONTINUED

Glossary

CAS: Close Air Support. The use of airborne forces to support ground operations, usually by infantry or other mobile forces; usually the province of fighter-type aircraft or armed helicopters, rather than heavy bombers, due to their ability to be more precise, and close to the action as well as carrying a wider array of 'precision' munitions. While most air-to-ground capable fighters can perform CAS duties, specialised aircraft for the role include the A-10 Thunderbolt and the SU-25 Frogfoot.

Erieye Radar System: An advanced long-range high resolution radar system designed and manufactured by the Saab company as a competitor to the conventional 'dish' type antennae usually used aboard Airborne Early Warning and Control (AEW/C) aircraft such as the E-2 Hawkeye or E-3 Sentry; Erieye is instead in a long box-like container, with slanted polygonal corners and ends. The Erieye uses multiple arrays looking in different directions, combined with data links to other sources to create a composite picture of the battlefield, and present all forces connected to the system with the information they need. The Erieye is much smaller than a normal AWACS radar, and as such can be fitted to much smaller aircraft, such as the Viking used by the Institute.

G-Suit: A garment worn over the normal flight suit of a high performance aircraft pilot that used circulated pressure provided by the aircrafts' onboard systems to force the flow of blood around the body in high-G manoeuvres to stop the pilot from blacking out due to loss of blood to the head, or upper torso. While it assists a pilot in attempts to stop blackouts, it's not completely reliable, and so such things still occur.

*'G': * An abbreviation for G-Force. While flying high performance aircraft, and indeed operating other high-performance machines, or experiencing other high-speed activities such as some theme park rides, people may experience the sensation of either multiplied or reduced 'G', that is, Gravity, on their person. 1G is Earth Normal gravity. Fighter pilots often experience considerable multiples of this due to thrust of their aircraft, and the sharp manoeuvres they pull, especially in combat. They also sometimes experience negative G's while performing others. As human - and humanimal, naturally - bodies aren't evolved to experience G forces, they can have the effect of pooling blood in the body, or forcing it away from the areas its' needed in: Hence the need for a G-Suit.

G-Wagen: A Mercedes-Benz designed and built SUV/Utility vehicle, very much analogous to the British Land Rover or US Hummvee, although closer to the Land Rover in size and general appearance, and used for many of the same roles.

Nomex: A fire-resistant and flameproof material used in the construction and manufacture of many articles of military and civilian wear used in potentially dangerous or high-risk professions. Flight suits and many of their accessories are often made of Nomex because of it's protective, yet lightweight, qualities .

S-3 Viking: A US Designed and built aircraft for the US Navy, the S-3 Viking started life as a carrier-based anti-submarine and maritime patrol aircraft, able to detect submarines through a number of onboard systems, and then attack them if necessary with it's onboard weapons. Later versions were relegated more into the airborne tanker role, as well as serving as electronic intelligence platforms. Some also participated in overland missions to attack targets, or provide reconnaissance. The S-3 has since been retired from active service with no replacement aboard carriers.