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 Eleven

August 27th 2017 Thirty Miles North of Terceira Island Azores 13:30pm

Seans' F-15 had performed flawlessly through the initial flight checks. All systems had responded when he'd performed the requisite self-test setups, and the basic flight control tests - banks, dives, climbs and the like - had been straightforward. The same had been achieved for the other aircraft in the squadron, much to Rachel's satisfaction, and the pilots had behaved with admirable restraint... so far. But the ludicrous level of excitement rising in all of them - and especially Sean - couldn't be contained or restrained forever, and the ingrained devil-may-care thrill-seeking mentality of the fast-jet pilot could only be restrained for so long. As the three combat jets slipped into formation with the S-3 with somewhat more flair and pizzazz that was strictly_necessary it was Sean that cut in the thrust vectoring controls for his jet, and pushed the stick into a full sideways-sliding roll into his position at the head of the staggered line formation. "Nice flying, hotshot," Taia called over the squadron channel. "Good to see you haven't lost your edge. Hate to be disappointed if you took that new jet up, and couldn't make it sing and dance". "That's a long way from singin' and dancin' _Chica," answered Hector from the S-3's cabin, his head barely visible as a silhouette through the tinted windscreen of the stubby plane. "Oh really?" replied Sean in the normal low, steady tone he adopted while flying. "Then I had best really_put this crate through its' paces then, hadn't I?" "_Crate?" Rachel's voice butted in, with a note of incredulity in her tone. "Fine, Blade - show us what you can really do". "Oh, God," groaned Taia. A single click of the microphone was all Sean gave as an answer, before anyone could asked any questions. Whatever they were about to say was cut off as the F-15 rolled inverted in a split-second, and then dived toward the shimmering blue ocean below, drooped wingtips drawing ultra-sharp contrails through the air, the rectangular vectored thrust exhausts glowing with the smouldering light of afterburners as the plane sliced through the skies, hammering toward the ocean below at ever-increasing speed. A curtain of water vapour, smashed into being out of the air by the pressure wave ahead of the plane, sheeted off of the sleek canards and butterfly tails as Sean cut the plane hard into a bank, engines screaming as the F-15 punched a hole through the sound barrier. Inside the cockpit, the vulpine felt the G's crushing him into the seat, and couldn't help but grin into the mask. It was less like a hand squashing him into insignificance, or crushing him with the weight of the world, and more a hand, reaching out with a touch of familiarity to wrap him in its' firm grasp. It was like coming home. He let out a whoop of excitement and joy, unable to hold it no longer, the F-15 screaming out of the dive he'd placed her into, soaring on wide wings mere feet above the whitecaps. Sean grinned wolfishly into the mask. Blood sang in his veins, the pulse in his hands coursing through the controls, and almost as if it came from the plane itself. "Blade?" called Werner's voice over the tactical net. The Zebras' voice had an edge of nervousness to it as the jet virtually skimmed the crests of the waves below, thundering along just below the mach at fifty feet. "Are you all right?" "Getting a feel for the ride," he replied in the same unnaturally calm tone. "After all, Rachel told me to see what it could do, so I thought I'd better give it a proper test". As he spoke, he hit the afterburners again, the jet roaring back to life, pitching up as he pulled up, the thrust vectoring cutting in and pushing the nose up hard. It took only seconds for the plane to ascend past the altitude of the S-3 and the remaining fighters of the squadron. Seans' muzzle curled into a content grin as the F-15X climbed past the normal operational altitude for a Strike Eagle - and continued to climb. The time elapsed on the dashboard clock - the only analogue instrument left on the control panel - was barely over a minute. "Impressive," he growled, as the engines stuttered, choking on the thin air. Despite the loss of power to the jet, he still felt that urgent pulse from the plane, coursing through the stick and throttle, linking him to the plane on an instinctive level. It was almost like it had its' own heartbeat and pulse, synchronised with his own. With it came the urge to fly, to exceed and excel, to keep flying and challenge the limits. It was a heady rush, and hard to ignore. All the same, he knew his limits, and nosed the plane lazily onto its' back, curling it around into a gentle loop and diving back in a slow earthward drop, the flaps and ailerons gently wiggling as he gracefully slid toward the group of aircraft. "Decided to come back and join us, chief?" asked Red over the squadron channel. "We were starting to think you'd gone rogue on us and decided to go on a world adventure". "Not so far," replied the fox, gently easing on a little power as the jet crept up behind the line-abreast formation of aircraft. "Besides, I wouldn't want to leave the rest of you out of the fun". The F-15 had increased speed, and by the time it caught up with the rest of the squad, the shockwave it produced rattled and buffeted their aircraft in place, a rumbling thump that rolled across their frames as the F-15X's engine exhausts receded with a red-orange glow. In the middle distance, the plane pulled a banking turn, aided by the vectored thrust petals around its' engine exhausts. The nose dragged around into a Herbst Manoeuvre, coming back around to face the others, before executing a Pugachev's Cobra, and a roll. In the cockpit of the F-111 Nina shook her head with a wry smile on her muzzle, looking cross-cockpit to Red, who raised one eyebrow. "Well," said the Hyena after a moment. "That looks like a 'come and play' to me, don't you think? Reckon we should indulge him?" The kangaroo slid his visor down into place, and cinched the straps tighter on his seat. "Reckon it'd be rude not to," he replied, grinning as he buckled his oxygen mask into place. Nina's hand eased the throttle forward, and the F-111's long, slender wings slid back as the big strike-bomber accelerated through the sound barrier, plumes of afterburner fire thundering from her engines as the plane rumbled to life. She immediately pulled off a snapping roll onto the portside of the jet, and then accelerated into a turn, coming around with the aid of the big jets' own thrust-vectored engines. Nina performed a precise aileron roll, the big aircraft graceful under her patient, gentle hand. She pulled up and pushed the plane into a hard turn, the thrust-vectoring cutting in hard and slinging the nose around the sky one up and one down, and sent the big jet pirouetting across the sky, standing on its' tail. Red's gleeful laughter sounded through the squadron frequency as the F-111 danced across the skies. It didn't take long for Sean, in the F-15, to join in, looping and rolling the smaller aircraft into position off the F-111's wingtip, rocking from side to side slightly. He pulled up and back, manually cutting in the thrust vectoring controls differentially, one up and one down as the plane stood on it's tail, and pirouetted, losing height as span like a top, but drawing gossamer ribbons through the air as it dropped, before Sean heaved it back over into a dive, looping out into a screaming, rolling climb. The stunning agility displayed y the jet was only possible through the amazing control offered by the re-profiled control surfaces, larger wings, canards, fly-by-wire controls and thrust vectoring. Nina chased the smaller, lighter plane showing her own skills and the strike bombers' agility and power as its' brute thrust and power sent it into a weaving corkscrew of a climb, wheeling about its' nose, before Nina spread the wings to brake and dump speed, soaring into a graceful dive to rejoin with the F-15X, the pair crossing over, before separating to take up positions on either wingtip of the S-3 Viking. "Good grief," muttered Max over the squadron net as he watched the display. "I can't believe I'm seeing this. I thought this was a test flight, not an air display. Any reason you're not joining in, Mainline?" "I don't have anything to prove," she said with a grin into her mask. "Besides, I know how well this plane flies - unlike those jokers, we got to take out our plane before, remember?" It was true - the pair had taken the two-seater up a short time after arriving on the island and going through their basic induction and some flight check training. Their F-15X had been used to iron out the bugs in Sean's aircraft, the software and hardware fixes being applied to both aircraft for their improvements. The mission had also given Taia a chance to put the F-15X through its paces. Like the others now, she'd revelled in the opportunity to throw the plane around the sky in a series of insanely agile aerobatics, much like the ones the others were performing now. "Hey, Rachel - enough of a flight test for you?" She remarked over the squadron circuit, watching the glitter of reflected sunlight off of the jets as they soared through the clear summery skies. The vixens' voice came back as a long-suffering sigh, as she replied. "Yes, I think they've adequately explored the manoeuvrability aspect of their aircraft. Maybe it's time we moved onto some actual testing instead".

The next few hours flowed into the days that were spent in more exhaustive testing. The pilots and their planes went through everything. Formation flying alternated with data-linking and data-handoffs from one aircraft to another, allowing one plane to lock up a target and another to shoot with that information. Live-fire weapons tests were conducted, everything from cannon, gunpods, rockets, bombs of all kinds, ground attack missiles, air-to-air weapons, and any imaginable mix; often even in the same mission and at low, high and all other altitudes, in all manner of (simulated) conditions of weather, as well as during the daytime and at night. They practiced hard with their stealth systems and communications procedures, and with the S-3 giving them target information and an up-to-date AWAC picture of the area and their directions. They also practiced in-flight refuelling from the Foundations' refuelling-equipped Airbus Atlas, running through the motions and exercises time and time again, until it was all perfect. It wasn't learning everything from scratch as much as it was refreshing old knowledge, and adapting what they knew already to their new, advanced aircraft. And inevitably, as well as the excitement of the flying the missions and exercises on a full timetable, were he mounds and mounds of paperwork, examinations, classes and theory lectures that came along with them. After the near week of solid flying and testing, the squadron were about ready to drop dead. The schedule had been punishing, and it hadn't been so much of a gentle easing back into the rigours of combat flying, as it had been a throwing in and splashing around frantically. However, they'd been luckier than some and managed to avoid any terrible accidents or injuries, and the aircraft had held together for the most part. Only one exercise had been delayed due to the need to pull and replace a handful of components on the F-111, which had taken only a short few hours, thanks to Rachel's amazingly skilled team. Now, they'd earned their chance to relax, and were grateful for the relaxed pace of a Friday afternoon spent out of their flight gear - and to have received, with praise, their full certifications for flight and combat operations. They'd been told, also, that their first briefing would be on the Sunday Evening, in advance of an imminent operation. Forewarned with the information, the squadron had met up outside of the flight operations building, changed at last out of their flight gear and into more comfortable clothing, to find Sean waiting beside a Humvee with a slight smile on his muzzle. Max stopped short at the sight, holding up both hands. "Okay, time out," the wolverine said, backing up half a step. "You've got that look on your face, the one that means you're up to something. And whenever that happens-" "Easy, Ice. It's all good, I promise. It'll be fun-" "Now I'm worried," said Red, his ears flattening back and a grimace on the Kangaroo's long muzzle. "Any time yer C.O. says something'll be 'fun', it's usually code for 'back-breaking, tear-jerking hardship and misery'. "Hey," cut in Taia, her tail lashing and a frown on her face. "I'm sure Blade has a perfectly good reason for pulling us all away from our desperate need to prop ourselves up on the bar and drown our unquiet minds in alcohol. Now, let's hear him out, and follow his orders, so we can get to the bar quicker". Sean rolled his single eye, and then looked to Nina with an open handed gesture, as if expecting her to weigh in too. The hyena simply quirked her muzzle in a smile, and shook her head. "Good, well," he began, raising one eyebrow. "It comes to my attention that while we've all been involved in aerial combat, and are more'n dab hands at it, we ain't so up to snuff on the whole shooting-an'-bein'-shot-at side of things on the ground." He grinned and nodded to the others - they'd all been involved in the big attack at the base, while he'd been slogging through the desert. " I know you guys had a bit of an impromptu eye-opener session back in the sandpit, and y'all managed to get out of it in mostly one piece. I don't anticipate sending us right into the thick of it and slogging it out with the ground-pounders, and god forbid we _do_end up that way". The fox leant back against the hood of the hummer, and patted the bulge at the back of his waistband where his personally owned Sig P-220 pistol resided in a holster. "I reckon we oughta get ourselves as well prepared as we can rightly be which is why Barry and his Scooby Gang have agreed to give us a proper course of education in shootin' properly and living ta tell someone about it - and not the guy you were shootin' at." The fox jerked his head toward the open back of the Hummer and the bench seats. "There's enough seats fer alla y'all, and I signed yer sidearms outta the armoury. Barry's given me a place to meet up - so let's get movin', and go shoot some stuff!" The others gave a murmur of agreement, sounding somewhat enthusiastic to brush up on their shooting skills, and to pick up guns as a change of pace. Nina slid in beside Sean, Taia and Max behind, with Red clambering into the rear bench seats and dishing out the sidearms. Sean hit the started once everyone was in and buckled up, and set the vehicle off.

The drive took them well out of their normally visited areas of the base, well away from the runways and aprons, the hangars, and the workshops and office buildings. Sean kept driving, heading onto the back roads of the base, past the motor pool and service vehicle storage areas, and onto a road that lead out toward the tank farms, where the big cylindrical storage tanks for the bases' aviation and other fuels and oils clustered together well away from anything they could damage by catching fire or exploding. However, halfway down the long road, he turned off onto a dusty, weed-cracked and untended road that lead past a few run-down ramshackle wooden buildings, long ago boarded up. "Where the heck are we going, Sean?" asked Nina over the grumble of the Hummers engine, as the vehicle bumped over a few ruts in the road, and growled up a short slope. "And what are these buildings?" "This place was a lot more important during the Cold War, and the Second World War before that," he said back, almost yelling over the engine noise. "A lot of extra housing, offices, and all that crap was needed. After the end of alla that, a lot of it wasn't knocked down, in case it was needed in any kinda of emergency or anything, like a sudden war kicking off, or even a volcano erupting, a hurricane, y'know." He waved at one of the small wooden buildings as the hummer slowed a bit. "Just been here since, slowing falling apart, and providin' a home to the lizards, birds, bugs and snakes". He put the brakes on and steered to one side as the road came to an end, and the sound of crashing waves could be heard, drifting in on the cool afternoon breeze. The vulpine switched off the engine and slid out of the drivers seat, and nodded toward the vehicle parked nearby. "Reckon we're in the right place?" he said with a smile, grinning at the RoadHammer. The hatches on the side and rear were swung open in the warm afternoon, as was the one on the turret, with the canvas cover on the muzzle of the big gun still in place and the assembly turned facing out to sea over the edge of the nearby cliff. Barry and his crew milled around nearby, or sat in shade as they prepared weapons and ammunition for Sean and the others. The fox lead the way, shaking a firm hand with Barry as the wolf turned to meet him. "S'up man," said Barry with a nod to him, and then a brief smile to the others. "Ready to do some learnin'? Seems like we got the weather for it". "Fer sure," he replied, falling into step alongside the grey-furred lupine as they crossed to where Thistle was laying down the last of a line of weapons on a fold-out table. A ways off toward the edge of the nearby cliff, Nadia and Sarah had set up a line of targets, made from scraps out of the old shacks, bottles and cans. Phil had a stack of magazines on one side of him, and a couple of ammo cans on the other side. The mouse looked up as Max gave a wave and came to stand by him, watching for a moment and then sitting down and copying his motions, loading the last few magazines. Sean and Barry stood next to the table, with Red, Taia and Nina hanging nearby. As Sarah and Nadia drifted back to the table, and Thistle stood impassively nearby, Sean nodded to the small arsenal assembled on the rough wooden surface. "So, what's the plan? You seem to have assembled enough here to fight a small war". "Almost," said Barry with a slight crooked grin, a cigarette protruding from one corner of his muzzle. "What we've got here is a fine selection of tools fer reachin' out and touchin' someone. And, if I do say so, a fine selection of people to instruct you all in the art of employin' em correctly" He nodded to his team, who gave a variety of nods and murmurs of agreement, as well as a few knowing smiles. Sean and the others grinned at their confidence - and it seemed like they knew their stuff. All of them could see it - they didn't brag, didn't strut, and didn't show off. They just did what they did - and did it well. "So," Sean said, gesturing with one open hand toward the bench. "Show us yer stuff". The group parted, and Barry and Sarah took up positions by the table. "So," began Sarah, "We figured you all have some skill, of some kind, with handguns, since you're all pilots and you've all done survival training. But hey, you asked us to train you". Barry picked up one of the weapons laid on the table; an H&K USP.45. The gun was unloaded, and the slide locked back. The wolf pressed the slide catch, and the pistols' slide slid home crisply with a clack. "And, o' course, thought we might let ya try out a few different toys, and see what you like, and give you some tips on what might work the best. An' movin' on from there, we've got yer more sophisticated and reliable weapons". He picked up an assault rifle, a Swiss manufactured SG-550, and sighted down its' iron sights, before handing it to Sean, who mimicked the action with some clumsiness, before giving a grunt of acknowledgement. Sarah, in the meantime, had moved on, and stood beside Taia. "And then there's the more specialised end of things," the grey-furred lupine-vulpine continued, selecting and picking up a futuristic-looking SPAS-12 pump-action shotgun and racking the empty slide with a decisive click-CLACK. The cougar beside her gave an appreciative grin, her tail twitching at the tip as she accepted the shotgun from the other woman. Sarah also gestured to the array of sniping weapons and light machine-guns on the table, which peaked the others' interest before Barry drew their attention back to his teaching. "But before we jump too far ahead, we oughta check out how yer basics are, so we got somethin' to work from. So, let's start with yer handguns. All got your own pieces?" The squadron drew their sidearms and laid them on the table, standing in a line. Sean's Sig P220 and Taia's Kimber Custom TLE II .45s, Nina and Red's Browning Hi-Powers and Max's standard-issue Beretta M9 9mm's. All of them were laid on the table in a line, unloaded and cleared expertly, before Barry picked up examined each one. Sarah and the others stood back and observed as the wolf expertly handled each one of the weapons. He picked up each one, working the slide on each handgun, dry-firing the guns with a sharp 'snick' and looking for signs of wear and tear, and of good maintenance. With each, he hemmed and hawed, making various approving or disapproving noises. He was especially happy to handle Taia's Kimber, comparing it favourably to his own sidearm. From there, Barry and his team ran Sean and the others through a wide variety of exercises and drills, first observing what they knew, and then showing them how to correct, and advising and demonstrating tactics and drills to keep them on their toes, and current in their skills. Everyone tried out each others' weapons and found the .45 round their favourite, much to the approval of Barry and the rest. Everyone was also pretty fond of the heavy calibre and smooth actions and handling of Sean and Taia's guns, which lead to much discussion about what pistols they should be using. All the team coped extremely well with the P90 series of submachine-guns, designed in a very futuristic and ergonomic style, the weapons were mostly plastic. Their large magazine size and overall small size also made them very useful to the pilots, along with an armour-piercing cartridge. Sean and Barry agreed it was probably worth stopping short of training everyone in the use of anti-tank rockets - for now - but they practiced throwing grenades and using grenade launchers both attached to rifles and independently, and learning how and when to use them - as much as they could in the time they had. It was obvious more training would be required, but the initial training expanded what they already knew, and refreshed a lot of memories. It also revealed a few forgotten or hidden skills of a few of the squadrons' members too. Red revealed a reasonable skill with automatic weapons, and keeping his fire controlled, a combination of his time running with 'bad types' when he was younger, and his large size. He'd also shown a big enthusiasm for using light and medium machine-guns with Thistles' taciturn yet enthusiastic instruction. Similarly, Max had a skill for sharp-shooting, learned during his days of private schooling, and with a little urging and encouragement from Sasha, had already shown considerable skill and improvement, not to mention a good amount of enthusiasm. Taia had also shown a lot of skill for shotgun shooting, marking it down to her time spent as a teenager and many vacations with her SWAT officer father, who had 'always wanted a boy', and had taught her how to shoot for both self-defence and for hunting with his personal shotguns and handguns - the Kimber had been a gift from him upon her graduation from Air Force Survival School, and she'd taken to using it as a matter of pride. It had always rankled her that she couldn't carry it as part of her survival kit - not officially, at any rate. Getting to use it professionally now was a thrill for the cougar. The still afternoon air over the mid-Atlantic island was split by the cracks and pops of rifle and pistol fire, and the occasional thump and stutter of grenade and machine-gun fire, until as the light faded sound did the sounds of training and practice.

The afternoon and evenings' worth of lessons had to draw to a close. The hours of training Barry and company had put them through had instilled firearms discipline and techniques in them, as well as the foundations of tactical movement, the grim realities of FIBUA; as well as the razor-edge perception of woodland and open ground combat techniques. Eventually, tired, dirty, but flushed on adrenaline and success, time was called on the exercise, and the de-briefing was begun - in a very informal manner. The groups clustered as one around the RoadHammer as Phil passed around ice-chilled cans of Coke from an open ice chest. Thistle manhandled - with some ease - a folding barbecue from the truck, while Taia and Red provided assistance, helping set up with coals and fire lighting. Everyone busied themselves with some aspect of the impromptu beach party, talking amongst themselves as they worked, exchanging words about the afternoon, and about the upcoming mission. Sean and Barry worked at a folding trestle table, preparing the meat for grilling over the now heating coals. Both canines sipped Bundaberg root beers as they worked and spoke alongside one another, as their teams did likewise elsewhere around them. "So," said Sean, giving a grim sidelong smile at the wolf, who gave the same back. "Gimme th' bad news. How much did we suck?" Barry made a show of deep thought as he dumped a rack of ribs into a glass dish of marinade, specially concocted by his own hand from a passed down recipe. "Well," he said at length, after taking a pull from his bottle, "I've seen some terrible shooters in my time-" "Ass," growled Sean with a chuckle, "we can't have been that bad!" "Nah man, I'm just yankin' yer tail. You all need a lot of work before you're a really effective fightin' unit, but you're a long way toward it. You know yer guns and how ta use 'em a helluva lot more than you did 'fore we had this little show-and-tell session; and yer all damn quick learners too, impressively so. 'Specially you an' Nina, actually". "Must be the Atlantean ju-ju, Rebecca said that might be the case, once the genes took hold. Didn't expect it to show quite so much though". Barry nodded quietly, studying the fox as he took a pull from the bottle, and picked up the pyrex dish and its' payload of marinated meat. "And you got some idea of what yer all good at, and of what you're all doin' wrong as well, which means you can learn what to do better". "Well," replied the fox as he eyed the meat going over the flames, and felt his mouth begin to water at the smells rising from the grill. "Let's hope we don't need it any time too soon." "I'll drink to that," replied Barry with a slight smile, and tipped his bottle to his lips.

The two teams enjoyed the rest of the quiet, peaceful evening as the warm sun slipped beneath the horizon. While the evening was fun and all of them enjoyed it whole-heartedly, there was the undertone of trepidation and fear to it, as they all knew that tomorrow, the briefing would come, and with it the truest test of their skills.

Many hours later, after the return from the cliff top, Sean sat at the kitchen table in Nina's house. The evening had turned humid and sticky on their return, the air close around everyone. Fur and hair matted down in the humidity, and the oppressive heat frayed already worn nerves. All the same, he'd accepted another invite from Nina, and they'd shared a brief, welcome shower, before trying to sleep. The heat had driven him from her embrace as well as sleep. But more so, as the night had closed in, so had his doubts and worries about the mission to come, and the situation he and his newfound team had found themselves in. Now he sat at the table with the kitchen door open in an attempt to entice a breeze in, although the bugs were coming in more readily. The vulpine stared down without seeing, rolling an empty 7.62mm NATO casing he'd pocketed between his finger and thumb, a half-empty glass of Johnnie Walker beside him, the ice in it slowly melting in the all-pervading heat. His single eye watched the brass casing as it rolled slowly back and forth, glinting under the kitchen light, as it rolled between the tips of his short, blunt claws. Internally, his mind slowly wove back and forth as the casing did, rocking back and forth between two disparate ideas. One was that he and the rest of the as-yet unnamed squadron were being manipulated into furthering the goals of the Avalon Foundations' CO, Rebecca's father, and that those goals were not the shiny happy thing they all wanted. The other was that they really were doing the work of the Good Guys, seeking out the shadowy conspiracy in all its' vipers' nests, and stamping it out so that everyone could live their lives, free and happy. Sean didn't want to be a cynical man, who, after all, did? It was alien to him to hope for the worst at all times, but years of military regimens and experiences had taught him to be realistic and pragmatic, which lead him to think that in this case, it was definitely a case of too good to be true. Which didn't exactly bode well for them, put in the situation they were in and apparently surrounded by enemies. A movement in the door caught his eye, and he lifted his muzzle away from the slowly rolling 7.62mm cartridge. Nina stood in the doorway into the kitchen, clad in her sleeping T-shirt and panties, leaning against the door frame with one arm and looking at him with an serious expression on her face. "This looks serious," she commented gravely, padding barefoot across the cool tiles of the floor and sliding into the chair opposite him, head propped on both hands as she looked into his face. "And it must be. That glass of whiskey - which, I remind you, is supposed to be prohibited less than twelve hours before a flight - is still half full; no whiskey ever survives that long around you. Well, other than that cheap-ass gut rot stuff that turned up at your party. What's on your mind". Sean gave a half-smile at the hyena. She always knew, somehow, how to get him to open up. He rolled the cartridge once more, looking at her and into those lovely deep jade-green eyes, before he took a breath and spoke. "I'm worried about the place we're in, Nina; not the island, I mean. This base couldn't be more like paradise, aside from the bar maybe. But I mean the Foundation, and what they really_want. Sure, they've got the ear of the UN, and co-operation with the USAF, RAF and god only knows who else. But all this searching for a shadowy agency behind things, and not having much to show for it, with the almost ridiculous amount of freedom they have; I'm finding it a little worrying, frankly" He fidgeted in the seat and shook his head, grimacing a little as his ears flattened to his skull. Saying it now, it almost sounded unfounded. But the hyena mirrored his own - she looked uncomfortable and nervous, her large ears folded back and her hands bunched together. "You're right," she said after a moment, her strong Australian accent heavy with the inner turmoil she felt too. "Red and I have noticed it too. We're all gearing up for something, and everyone's working hard... but not a one of us, barring the higher ups, and they aren't telling anyone other than the normal company line. "Not Rachel, not any of the techs and mechanics - not one of them we've asked has revealed a thing, other than the snippets. But even then, any questions about that get quickly closed down and deflected. It's pretty worrying, as you said." "And I don't think it's the kind of thing that'll come up at a briefing, either. Barry's mentioned it too; he said that even before now, he was worried that there's somethin' that ain't right about this outfit and the way it's bein' run. So y'all can understand why I'm not so keen on drivin' another team into danger after gettin' Jon, Baxter and Josh taken out already. I'm not goin' ta fly until we got some kinda plan on how we go on with this". Nina nodded, meeting his eye. Her hand reached out to his, and he took it without word or comment, their fingers closing tightly around one another as she squeezed his hand softly. He'd spoken to her, in the early hours as they lay entwined with one another about the loss of the three men under his command, and of others he'd seen die or end up wounded in his time as a pilot, and she'd confided the same in him. In their profession, it was rare to meet anyone who'd never seen an accident or crash at some point; less so to know someone who'd seen a friend lost to hostile action. The new conflict in the far East had bred a sad new spate of those losses, however. "We - all of us, I mean, all the pilots and the ground crew - we have to come up with something together. Our own plan, our own group and strategy, should things turn sour. We all have contacts, friends, places to go to. Maybe Barry can help? But together-" "Right," he continued with a firm nod, beginning to feel thoughts and ideas coalesce into a proper plan. "We talk, we tell the others. Keep it quiet, and keep it between us. We watch, we wait, and we listen, but we draw our plan up too." The hyena nodded, her expression serious and rapidly taking on the concern on Seans' own rugged features. "Do you think we can get Rachel and the others on board? The Viking crew, I mean - the more of us the better; but they might be in thick with the Foundations' people". "We'll work it out," replied the fox, his voice more sure and firm this time. The short claw on his fingertip snagged the rim of the cartridge, and flicked it up, bouncing it off of the table to catch it before it hit again. "We'll speak to them, subtly, softly, search 'em out and get the idea of who they are, what they're like. And then we'll get our contingency plan underway. Always have a fallback..." Nina smiled at him across the table, and he returned the expression, feeling a renewed sense of direction, leant to him by her sobering presence, and smarts. She grinned, an expression that only added to the attraction he felt for her. Even with the bed-head and the rumpled T-shirt, he couldn't see as anything but beautiful. "What would I do without you?" he murmured, tightening his grip on her hand. She pulled his arm as she stood, tugging him back toward the bedroom. "Get a lot less sleep... well, maybe not a _lot less sleep," she added with a wink and a twitch of her curvaceous hips. "Anyway, come on - we've got a mission to fly in the morning!"

August 28th 2017 Alyeta Island [250 miles west of Easter Island] 05:00 Hours

Zachary watched as the sun clawed its way up into the sky, the burning orb seeming to slowly climb out from under the endless waves that stretched into the horizon. There was barely a bump in the ocean for miles around the small acreage that formed Alyeta, and on the island itself there was nothing save the airstrip and its attendant cluster of buildings, and the swathe of jungle that covered the volcanic peak that dominated the landmass. As his booted paws pressed into the fine black volcanic sand, he could see the beauty of the almost pristine land. This far from anything, it was no surprise it had been mostly left that way. Since the expansion of the runway as an emergency abort site for trans-pacific flights, nothing had been done with it save a few wildlife expeditions, historical and geological surveys and the like. It was no small surprise, then, that it had hidden such ancient secrets in the caves that riddled the mountainside. He had personally seen to it that he and his men would be here to oversee the removal of the highly important relics and information that had been removed from the caverns beneath the island. Most had been safely spirited away into the air aboard a small armada of transport planes. Some were headed for Brazil, and the primary headquarters deep in the rainforest. Others had to be shipped elsewhere for the meantime, to be analysed, and be 'implemented' as part of the far-reaching plan of the organization that commanded him. However, there was enough ancillary material and equipment on the island to point to other plans afoot - and that was what would tempt the Avalon people to come looking, and lead them into his trap, or so he had planned. And it was enough to have to be guarded, too. The information they'd already recovered from Tajikistan in their original encounter, and then the raid by other forces allied to Avalon would lead them here. The rest as he had planned it would be straightforward. He studied the sunrise for a moment longer, before turning in place and looking back over the expanse of tarmac to the trees and buildings beyond. Amongst the clapboard and wood buildings, with their age and salt-water misted windows, he could pick out the dark, hard edges of the radar transmitter he'd set up as one part of the decoy plan, along with the pointy noses of the Rapier missile batteries tucked into the shadow of the tree line. Those were the overt weapons positioned; the real ones were tucked in deep among the trees, or disguised within the fake buildings, expertly crafted over the last few days. Rather than the Rapiers, these were advanced models of anti-aircraft artillery and missiles, guided by laser systems and optical guidance, rather than the more easily detected - and countered - radar. Further to them, when the Foundations' ground personnel were sent in - if they were sent in, if his plan did not succeed, or went in a way he did not predict - then they'd be surprised and further inconvenienced by the armed ground personnel held in reserve, and armed with a variety of light arms and heavy weapons to keep them at bay. Some of them even had shoulder-fired SAMs to further deter the aircraft overhead from providing support. Giving a grim smile of satisfaction, he slowly walked onto the hard surface of the runway, and toward the small operations shack, and the camouflage netted shapes of his plane and those of his wingmen, the three F/A-22 Raptors carefully concealed from prying eyes. He felt a selfish pang of regret as he looked over the sleek shape, as he reflected on the fact that he and his men wouldn't be locking horns and matching wits with the Foundation squadron this time; but at least he'd have the satisfaction of seeing them at least hindered and humbled, if not destroyed by his plans and machinations. Beyond the line of raptors, and sitting more brazenly out in the open, the last of the transport planes took aboard the last of the relics and information to be shipped out. The propeller driven C-160 Transall would be long-gone by the time the Avalon squadron arrived overhead - and, if the plan went by the book, so would he. As he paused, the Transalls' portside engine whined into motion, the prop slowly turning at first, then blurring into a circle with a rising grumble As he stepped into the shack, the two men turned to face him, faces looking up expectantly, eager in their desire to serve the organisation. He couldn't fault them for that; it was good to see such dedication in action. "Soon," he said, pre-empting their question. "It'll be soon, now that they've had the information for so long. They'll come, and we'll be waiting for them!" "Yes sir!" replied the tiger, the younger of the two. His comrade, a Jackal, grinned equally wide and eagerly, prepared to do his best. He hadn't lied to them - he knew it would be soon. And they were as ready as they could be. He just couldn't wait to see the fireworks start, and to put his enemy through their paces. Let them come, with whatever the Avalon Institute had - they would be ready, and waiting.

TO BE CONTINUED

Glossary

Browning Hi-Power: A conventional in appearance and operation 9mm semi-automatic handgun, the Hi-Power in the name refers to the large - for the time it was designed, 1926 - magazine capacity of 13 rounds, more than contemporary pistols of the day. The Browning HP, as it is also known, was a fantastic success, and went on to see service with over 50 countries around the world, and is still in production and use today by many services, groups, individuals and organisations.

C-160 Transall: A European transport aircraft, used primarily for tactical transport, rather than long-range, but capable of long-range flights. Similar in general appearance to the C-130 Hercules, the Transall is smaller, having only two turboprop engines, but is otherwise similar in many ways.

FN P-90: A sub-machinegun designed in the 1990's with the idea of being used as a 'personal defence weapon' for rear-area personnel and vehicle crews, as well as others with minimal weapon experience. The P90 is small, yet powerful due to it's 'bullpup' design that puts the barrel above the working action of the gun, instead of in front, reducing the overall length. Additionally, the magazine lies along the top of the weapon, allowing for a larger capacity, and less jutting protrusions from the weapon as a whole. The P90 also uses a proprietary 5.7mm cartridge, designed for greater armour-penetrating capability against personal body armour and cover. Due to its' ergonomic styling, allowing it to be used equally well by left and right-handed shooters, the P90 also looks extremely futuristic, and has been seen in several Hollywood movies and video games. Integrated accessory rails are also part of the weapons' design.

Kimber TLE II: A specially produced version of the venerable Colt M1911 .45 handgun (often called 'The Colt .45'), the Kimber TLE II was primarily made famous by the LAPD SWAT teams, who it was partly designed and adapted for. Featuring an under-barrel flashlight, and improved grips, sights, and slide, the Kimber is highly regarded, and has been adopted in other versions by the US Marine Corps Force Recon units. Civilian-version Kimbers have become collectors items.

Rapier: A British-developed Surface-to-Air missile, renowned for being constantly upgraded to be on the cutting-edge of technology, and capable against a wide array of aerial threats. The Rapier is available in many mobile and trailer-mounted versions. The system consists of batteries of four missiles on trailers with an integral generator and electro-optical targeting system. The whole assembly can be easily towed behind any utility vehicle or truck.

Sig-Sauer P220: A .45 ACP version of the Sig-Sauer P226 handgun, a very popular and widely-used combat handgun produced by Swiss-Austrian arms manufacturer Sig-Sauer. The P226 is widely used by military and Law Enforcement, with the P220 used in smaller numbers around the world.

Sig-Sauer SG-550: An assault rifle made by the same Swiss manufacturer as the P220 handgun, the SG-550 is a variant of the standard-issue rifle of the Swiss Army. Highly reliable and advanced for the time it was designed and manufactured, the SG-550 is still in use today, in a number of modernised versions incorporating many features of more modern assault rifles, such as accessory mounting rails. Firing the same 5.56mm ammunition as many other Western assault rifles, the SG-550 is a reliable and powerful weapon.

SPAS-12: A combat-purposes Shotgun produced by Italian company Franchi. SPAS stands for 'Special Purpose Assault Shotgun'. The weapon features the ability to switch between typical pump-action operation for a shotgun, and a semi-automatic fire mode, for assault situations where a higher volume of fire is needed. The SPAS has a decidedly military appearance, and has a number of barrel and stock options. Used by some military and tactical police units, the weapon has also appeared in many video games and movies.