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!

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Chapter Thirteen

September 1st 2017 Mataveri International Airport Easter Island Pacific Ocean 04:00am

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Sean sat in the cockpit of the F-15X as the engines wound up to full power, casting a thumbs-up at the ground-crew tech who returned it with a firm grin, and then added a salute. Sean smiled at that, and returned it casually, before holding his mask up to his muzzle. "This is Blade. All aircraft, proceed to take off positions. We are now on timeline for our operation. Line up on the runway, and then join formation at angels twenty-five, over" The reply of affirmations filled the channel for moments afterward, as Sean increased the throttle, the F-15's engines screaming as the plane slowly and smoothly eased away from its' parking spot, turning smoothly onto the taxiway and along the cracked concrete toward the end of the runway. The flashing lights on the planes' frame cast weird intermingling shadows with the lights of the airfield, ghostly shapes that leapt and danced in the darkness of the pre-dawn There was virtually no air traffic to be aware of; the island was so remote that what few airliners there were that came and went were so infrequent that they hardly jostled for space with the departing Wylde Fyre squadron. Even more so at night, when the only things that stirred were the sleek-shaped combat aircraft rousing themselves for the battle to come, all sharp angles and gleaming metal, they looked as though they belonged in the night. Sean turned the F-15X onto the end of the runway in the darkness, taking position at the head of the double-stream of glaring runway lights marching into the darkness. The engines glowed softly and steadily as he held the plane in position at the end of the runway, waiting for final authorisation from the tower. He shifted in the seat, and buckled his oxygen mask in place as he waited. The smell of rubber and the blast of cool air was a wakeup to his still-tired brain. Feeling his senses and mind perk, he slid the tinted visor of his helmet into place. HUD icons appeared as the visor locked into place, and the world was recast in the sparkling green glow of night-vision. The radios' voice bought him back to reality, and he flexed his gloved hands on the throttle and the stick as the voice of the tower spoke. "Blade, this is tower. Cleared for takeoff, good luck and Godspeed, over". "Roger," he replied curtly, and fed power into the throttle, smoothly pushing the bulky control forward a fraction, just enough to move the mighty machine forward at a little more than a walking pace. The jet advanced from the holding area at the end of the runway, and past the 'piano keys' that marked the end of the runway. Stopping with the slightest kiss of the parking brakes, before locking them down, he slowly fed more power to the engines, feeling the rising roar of power behind him, and the noise driving a worm of excitement up through his body. The same feeling again, of a roused beast, hungry for the hunt, to run and be free again, lurked inside the edge of his perception. The pendant on his chest, beneath the heavy, hot layers of flight vest, flight suit and immersion suit tingled against his cream-white chest fur. The digital thrust readout read true, and he released the brakes. The jet leapt forward, and rolled down the strip, the speedometer flashing up from zero at a mind-numbing rate. With the vectored thrust panels on the jets' exhausts combined with the canards ahead of the wings, and the much larger wings themselves, the F-15X's takeoff roll was massively reduced. A slight tug rearward on the stick as the knots rolled up, and the big plane lifted into the air like a feather. The rear monitors and mirrors at the canopy rim showed the island as a cluster of lights on a darker patch of blackness in the starkly moonlit sea, falling away behind him as the altimeter rolled up quickly. "System, gear up. Clean airframe," he said to the planes' flight computer, toggling the voice control with a fingertip on the HOTAS. "Confirmed," said the modulated female voice of the aircrafts' flight computer. With a slight hum somewhere beneath and behind his seat, the landing gears retracted smoothly. The gear light turned green, and the computer trimmed the rest of the controls for free flight. The altimeter rolled up higher, and he lowered the nose slightly, reducing the rate of climb as it rolled through the thousands of feet. The climb rate slowed as he began to turn the nose onto the holding pattern, waiting for the others to join him. The AESA radar in the nose of the F-15X picked up the shapes of the rising aircraft, taking off in sequence every few minutes to stagger their joining of the formation effectively. It didn't take long for the squadron to form up in the skies, and with only the faintest wisps of cloud to mar the clear night, the light of the moon and stars was enough to navigate by. At their altitude, there was also the imminent light of dawn over the horizon, the twilight giving the virtually endless sea around them an eerie glow. "On course and heading," Charlotte called over the squadrons' frequency. Despite being the S-3's co-pilot, she also held some responsibility for directing the squadron and monitoring the Erieye radar. Werner shouldered the rest of the job, monitoring targets and contacts, as well as working the radars' more exotic and impressive functions. "No unidentified contacts in immediate area, all clear into target area, over". "Roger," confirmed Sean over the same channel. "Proceed as planned, over".

There was little else to say as the squadron continued their journey. Making best speed at the high altitude, it took only a matter of hours to transit between the islands. All too soon it was time to change formation and prepare for their attack. The S-3 dropped back and took up a figure-8 racetrack pattern, where it would hold at distance, using its powerful Erieye radar to co-ordinate the aircraft as they made their attacks, and to pinpoint the locations of the ground units and anything else in the area. The radar was powerful enough that it could track and locate ground targets and sea-going craft accurately, and then update the information to the other aircraft. The A400M would remain between the attack area, and the Viking, ready to swoop in and drop off Barry's team. The rest would carry out the actual attack itself, as planned via the mission profile. The three combat jets would move in and take on the defences, opening the way for the Atlas. Once it was inbound, they'd move quickly to neutralise whatever trap would be sprung. The predawn twilight was still with them, the sun not yet above the horizon, and the nights' shadows were still with them. The jets had descended to lower altitude, this time planning to come in low under the radar, and get off their first shots. The timer counted down in each of their visors, and at the same moment, the pilots flipped their master arm switches to 'ON', bringing their weapons live. Sean glanced at the clock in his visor, and then at the analogue clock on the canopy frame; both of them were in sync. Taking a breath, her fastened his oxygen mask back into place, cinched his straps tight, and spoke into the radio. "This is Blade. Beginning operation, over". He pushed the throttle up, and hit the afterburners. The engines rumbled in the jets' frame, and he rolled the jet onto one wingtip, dropping the jet lower to the ocean, and toward the small huddle of darkness that marked the island. With the data feed from the S-3 active, the super-MFD showed a window with the feed from the powerful radar, tracking the emissions of the surveillance radar feeding the Crotale and AAA positions ahead. Showing as green domes, they overlapped the coast, forming a net. Behind him, the other pair spread out, each moving out to hit one of the positions. Seans' finger flicked the talk command switch for the jets' systems again, and he spoke clear. "Ready for first phase of operation, over" "Roger," replied Van Mans' voice over the net. "Commencing the operation now"

On the S-3, the Zebra nodded across the aisle of the confines of the Vikings' cabin to Charlotte, and the pair hit switches and adjusted settings, configuring the Erieye. With the radar rightly tuned, the surveillance radars on the island would pick up the signals and impulses from the distant aircraft, and pass the information to the target tracking radars of the Crotale and AAA systems. The artificially increased signature of the little S-3 would show as much larger; a far more tempting target for the defences.

Sean allowed himself a small smile as the graphical representation of the radar ahead gained more 'domes', as the tracking radars went live. With the F-15's and F-111 so low, and with their stealthy features and active-stealth systems online, the combat jets hadn't been picked up by the radars yet. So far, the plan was as expected. Toggling a control on the HOTAS with one finger, he spoke to the jet. "System: select AGM-88 HARM". "AGM-88 HARM selected". The F-15s and F-111 were carrying two of the anti-radar missiles apiece, along with cluster bombs for finishing off the positions, and a mix of laser-guided bombs and air-to-surface missiles for supporting the ground team. Each also carried full loads for their cannon. At the moment though, all that he was concerned with was the HARMS. The bearing to the target was already confirmed, given it was showing on his HUD. All it took was to launch the missile on the same direction. The missiles' active seeker would lock onto the transmitting radar, and then home in, destroying the array, and most likely wrecking the launcher, too. Then all they'd have to do is close in and destroy the launchers and the gun batteries with their cluster munitions. "Magnum," he announced over the radio, the brevity code for an ARM launch. Moments later, the same call came in from Nina and Max, their missiles in flight too. The SMFD showed the track to the target, the icons converging. The missile didn't need to be guided, or kept illuminated on target, so all there was to do was watch. The HARM had a closing rate over Mach 2.0, meaning it would only be a matter of moments for the missile to close the gap.

On the ground, the Crotale operators scanned the sky fruitlessly with a pair of binoculars, eager to catch sight of whatever it was the radar had spotted, and the Crotales' radar was now tracking. According to the radar operator, it was huge. It could be a transport, or worse; a long-range bomber. That would be worrisome, as only the USA and a handful of other countries operated such large, long-range aircraft. If there were bombers from any of those nations headed this way, then they were done and lost. The Crotale pivoted and its' tubes raised, the smaller dish at the top spinning as it tracked in on the target. Fascinated and determined to catch something, the commander, a river otter, pressed the binoculars to his face and grimaced, sighting in the same rough direction as the launcher, trying to find whatever it was out there. He panned back abruptly as a spark caught his eye, growing bigger. There was no sound, which meant the projectile was screaming in at supersonic speed. In horror, he dropped the glasses and screamed to the men, running for the shelter trenches they'd dug. "Cover! Cover, for gods' sake cov-" _ _ His voice was drowned out as the launcher was engulfed in an ear-shattering explosion, the sound of which rang the ears and blurred vision into double. As smoke and shrapnel cleared, the launcher was revealed.

The dish at the top of the SAM turret was blown clean away, and the rest of the pylon it sat on was tilted at a drunken angle. The round dish on the front was blasted apart, looking as though bites had been taken out of its' circumference. One of the missile tubes was riddled through with holes, another hanging drunkenly off the launcher. The entire thing was no longer moving or tracking anything, and instead thick smoke coiled from the insides, along with the acrid smell of burnt electronics. The commander glared at the damage, and then out to the horizon, teeth bared and fists clenched. "Get the guns up, we've got to have some defence! God only knows what they'll-" He was cut off as the same noise came again, and the tracking radar for the triple-a battery was hit by a bright streak of light. This time the concussive force threw him off of his feet and to the ground. Again, plastic and metal burned, and again, the radar and gun mount were a ruined shell, shattered and broken on the trailer-mount that had held the guns and their radar. Open-mounted in shock, the otter clambered to his feet, swaying and dizzied by the impact. Sound came muffled to his ears, and he was dimly aware of the fact that his hearing had probably been damaged by the overpressure. However, the muffled, swimming, ringing in his ears cleared enough along with his vision to hear the roar of jet engines above the shouts and screams of the few men manning the post and now running to try and organise themselves. His eyes tilted upward, and in the pre-dawn twilight he could make out the shape of a big, sleek and deadly-looking jet, slicing through the heavens. Dark shapes detached from the belly, and he had time enough to offer up a silent moment of regret, before the bombs split apart, dark casings parting like the petals of a deadly flower to rain gleaming baseball-shaped and sized bomblets. He didn't see the destruction they wrought, only their descent before the carpet of explosions marched across the position, and his last memories were of a searing wall of heat and light.

From his position high above, peeling off in a tight bank and loop overhead to perform a Battle-Damage Assessment (or BDA) of the target, Sean was grimly satisfied. The HARMs had struck true, disabling both tracking radars, and then with the following confusion there had been no time to set the anti-air systems to manual, allowing him time to dash in at high speed and deliver the cluster bomb attacks. The spread of high-explosive and armour piercing bomblets had wrecked the anti-aircraft site completely. Now, there was just flame and smoke rising from the area, and no sign of any radar from below. A check of the HUD revealed the same elsewhere; the others had repeated the exercise on the other sites, smashing the anti-aircraft capabilities of the island in one fell swoop. "Objective one achieved," he relayed over the radio. "All targets destroyed or disabled. We're ready to move onto the second phase, over". "Confirmed," replied Werner from the S-3. "Move to next phase, over" "Roger," replied Guns' firm voice on the radio, without the hint of a waver. "Beginning approach. Wylde Fyre, keep us covered!" "Roger," replied Sean. "Wylde Fyre squadron, form up on the Atlas".

The airbus A400M had moved off of its' holding pattern, and now rumbled into toward the target, Guns and Saffy throwing the big plane around the sky in an evasive flight pattern. Gunfire had begun to stream up from the island, lines of tracers painting the sky. No radar signals accompanied it, and no harsh buzzing tones of SAM lock-on's; most likely it was heavy machine-guns, manually aimed. Even so, they could be a great risk to the landing A400M, a much bigger and slower target than the fighters. Keeping at a high altitude and steady course as the island and runway, now visible in the growing murky pre-dawn light, hove into distant view, the Atlas stayed high, the three combat aircraft keeping their circling pattern around it. More than once, the jets broke off and dived in toward the source of the lines of tracers, releasing single cluster bombs, or letting loose with a burst of fire from their cannon into a position, leaving clouds of shrapnel and twists of smoke in their wake. The airbus remained unmolested in toward the target, keeping high up, and out of range. Sean pulled back up from a gun run, using the rear camera to check the damage. With satisfaction, he noted the overturned and shredded light truck, and burning emplacement around it, expertly riddled by his on-target fire from the M61 Vulcan gatling cannon. As he rose back into formation, he frowned. Something nagged at the back of his head, like a voice whispering to him, or a half-remembered memory or idea. A warning flickered in his visor targeting system, and on the canopy HUD displays, before flickering out again. He frowned, as he realised - there was no accompanying sound. Normally, the warning receivers would buzz and sound if there was any lockon to the plane, or illumination by radar or laser emissions. "Blade to-" he was cut off as Nina spoke at the same time "Dart to-" they both paused, and Nina spoke up again. "Dart to Blade, go ahead, over". "I just received a hostile lock warning, just for a moment. Can you confirm, over?" he felt almost stupid saying it, considering the warning had disappeared moments after. But with everything else that had happened, and that tingling feeling from the pendant on his chest again, well. It was too much to ignore, and a lot more than a simple hunch. "Confirmed," said Nina after a moment, her tone troubled as his had been. "I received the same warning tone, and it flickered away again." She hesitated for a second, and Sean's eyes scanned the ground below, lit by the first fingers of light from the rising sun, barely cresting the horizon. As he did, the radar warning system buzzed a shrill alarm, and a bright red 'WARNING' flashed in his visor. "Evade!" he yelled, and popped chaff and flares, the Airbus doing the same, pulled sharply up and away, engines roaring even through the canopy of the F-15, it was so close. Sean pulled the F-15X up and around, as a missile streaked through the air where he had just been. A flash of reflected light showed Taia pulling in a sharp roll, wingtips leaving contrails. Gunfire flashed from below, leaving streaming tracers through the sky, almost like a Hollywood laser. "What the hell is that?" he heard Red snarl over the radio. "Not getting any radar from below! Is it some kind of other guidance?" "Whatever it is, we gotta take it out, quick!" replied Taia. "The Atlas is vulnerable!" "Yeah, noticed!" replied Guns with a growl. "Any time would be good, guys" the tiger continued, weaving the Atlas as much as he dared, banking away and climbing, flares arcing out with eye-hurting brightness against the skies. "Right," replied Sean, craning his neck and tapping touch-screen controls. The cameras along the side of the jet zoomed in on the small cluster of buildings, and picked out the ugly shapes of vehicles amongst the structures. Big turrets on the backs of them tracked the shapes of the aircraft through the skies, twin-barrelled cannon firing at high speed, and missile tubes tracking and elevating to follow the aircraft. "Damn," he muttered. "No sign of radar on the turrets, must be optical guidance or something. Mean chaff and flare ain't much good 'neither. We're gonna have to hit 'em the old fashioned way, over" "Roger," replied Van Man over the channel. "Do it quick! The Atlas is-" There was a puff of flame and smoke from nearby, and Sean whipped his head around in alarm - the Atlas had been hit! Not severely, he noted as the plane levelled out, trailing a thin streamer of smoke. But a hit was a hit, and the damage could be worse than it appeared. Before he could analyse much more, a shell detonated near to the F-15, rocking it in mid-air, forcing him to wrestle the jet back under control. Anger stirred in him, coiling and merging with that 'just-beyond' feeling, and he rolled his shoulders, taking a breath and closing his eye, before letting it out slowly, snapping his eye back open and looking down through the cockpit monitors. "All right , Wylde Fyre squadron, listen up - Mainline, Blizzard. Y'all will hit Target One. Dart, Devil - y'all will hit Target Two. I'll go in low, and paint the targets for the Paveways, over" "Negative," said Van Man over the radio from the S-3. "You'll be too vulnerable! Those things are BRAMS AA vehicles. They're bloody good systems, man! If you fly straight and level-" "He can do it," said Taia firmly. "Trust Blade, Van Man. If anyone can do it and come out, it's him, over". There was a pause, and then Werners' voice came back on the 'net. "Roger," said the South African after a moment. "Okay, do it - commence the attack!"

Sean pulled the F-15X around in a wide, flat loop, bringing the jet away from the island and the lethally effective BRAMS platforms, and into formation with the other two jets briefly. He looked across at Taia, who gave him a thumbs-up, and the same from Nina on the other side. Nodding in reply and returning the gesture, he eased the throttle up a fraction, and gently pushed the stick forward into a dive, watching the altitude roll down from the thousands to the hundreds of feet. Air screaming past the canopy, he leveled out at around one-hundred-fifty feet, the thrust-vectoring and spectacular maneuverability keeping the jet steady. At this low altitude, even small-arms fire could be deadly, let alone the cannons. But the thrill rising inside him, the feral, hungry excitement coiling itself into him, pulsing through his arms and chest from the aircraft he'd saddled himself too, it all gave him the confidence he could do what was needed. He slaved the podded targeting laser on the underside of the F-15 to his helmet systems - and then popped the airbrake. The jet slowed dramatically, almost seeming to stand still over the wooden roofs and trees below. The plane shuddered as a handful of small-arms rounds found the fuselage. But there! There was the BRAMS, the ugly, angular, mean looking 8-wheeled vehicle nestled in the shell of a building. The turret swung toward him, but the laser found it, keeping it illuminated as he fed a little more power on, keeping his eyes on the AAA unit. "Weapon released!" came a call from somewhere over his head, and he caught a split-second sight of a green object falling, falling, falling- and then the BRAMS was consumed in a fireball, wreckage and debris spiraling out from the impact point. "Good hit!" he called in triumph - before the F-15's frame shuddered as if hit by a hammerblow. Immediately, Sean fed power to the jet, rolling hard onto the left wing and rocketing past the trees - some of them above the line of flight - and ascending into a spiraling climb to higher altitude. Looping out hard over the ocean, he leveled back out once more, coming back into the same lower altitude approach, and again hit the laser, this time targeting the BRAMS from longer range. The platform issued smoky lines into the air as SAMs fired, and he hit all the ECM and countermeasures he had, grimacing and hitting the throttle to the stops, accelerating toward the platform. Again, the fighter rattled as rounds found home, before he hit the laser on target. "Blade, break off!" called Van Man urgently. "You're taking too much damage, man! You have to break off!" "Not yet, just one more-" "Got the target!" crowed Red with glee. "Bombs away, bombs away!" The BRAMS loomed close, the turret flashing, tracers arcing over the canopy as Sean blasted past in full afterburner, a sonic boom in his wake, before the pair of GBU-16 one thousand pound bombs hit the self-propelled AA system and blew it apart, flipping over in the air, and blasting the turret clear of the vehicle. The ragged buildings around it were flattened and shattered, roof panels and other debris spiralling through the air, before Sean pulled up into a screaming power climb, shedding flares in his wake for good measure, wingtips drawing contrails as he climbed. As the jet pulled up from the fiery inferno below, the sun crested the horizon fully, and the light caught the jets' metallic skin, turning it into a rising star. "All targets eliminated!" Sean called with a flourish, giving a sigh of relief into his mask. "Saffy, Guns - clear for landing, we'll cover you in. All aircraft, fire at will!"

The three combat jets formed up, and dived back in on the targets below. Sean's aircraft fluttered in the dive, and he grimaced - the hit had chewed a chunk out of the port canard, but the computer systems - he thought, anyway - were compensating for the flutter, giving him enough control to keep flying and in the fight. The three jets dived in toward the runway, strafing vehicles and sandbagged positions, driving shapes scattering, as behind them, the Atlas circled back in, coming from high altitude. Sean pulled up at the end of his run, circling around to watch as the A400M dropped like a stone in a steep dive from over five hundred feet high, into virtual landing altitude. The big plane flared up hard as it approached the end of the runway, bouncing down heavy on its' gear. The nose dropped almost immediately as the big four-prop transport raced down the runway, tail high and nose compressed; before slowing dramatically with the scimitar-shaped propellers blurring backward into reverse thrust to slow the plane down. The ramp had come down as soon as the plane hit tarmac, and as soon as it stopped, a dune buggy-like Light Strike Vehicle bounced down the ramp, and screamed across the runway, weaving through fire. Lashing lines of gunfire stretched from the little vehicle toward the buildings clustered alongside the runway. As he watched, the A400M drove to the end of the runway, turning in it's own length. As another line of tracers reached out for it, the F-111 dived in, and lashed into the position with gunfire, cutting off the attack. The props on the big transport blurred again, and it shot down the runway, virtually leaping into the air. The fox had to restrain a cheer from his throat, the drop had been so smooth and effective. All that remained was to support Barry's team as they did their part.

Barry steadied the M14 EBR in a firm two-handed grip, blasting off a short three-round burst of fire as the light strike vehicle rolled heavily on its' suspension around a corner, guided by Sarah's hand on the wheel. Behind him, Thistles' M240 hammered, the wave of sound from the medium machine-gun loud and hammering on his ears, despite the constant crackle of gunfire, the echoing rumble of jet engines constant overhead, and the dull thump of secondary explosions from the already-hit BRAMS and other positions. "Ya missed the turn!" bellowed the wolf over the snarl of the LSV's engine. The little vehicle was loud, due to the open-frame construction. Half dune buggy, and half jeep, the thing handled as light as a go-kart, and had amazing pick-up. However, it lacked almost completely in armour, aside from for the fuel tank and engine. The spaced-frame, tubular construction helped make it light, and it had space for four, and a gunner on the automatic grenade launcher at the back, which even now hammered above their heads, pumping a stream of high explosive into the window of one of the few small buildings, and blowing the windows and doors out as it hit and exploded. Unfortunately, the fact it was only supposed to hold five people had made things on the exciting side for Nastasha, who'd drawn the short straw. The black-furred vixen was strapped into place half-sat, half-crouched on the edge of the gunners' platform at the back of the vehicle, partly crammed into the cargo space. Her back was pressed against Nadia's legs, and her tactical harness was attached via half a dozen straps and bungee clips to the rear frame of the LSV. While she wasn't about to fall off, without a seat, she was swung wildly around every time the vehicle cornered, or hit anything resembling a bump. Fortunately, her aim was good enough that whenever she decided to take a shot, it usually hit. That didn't especially relieve her from the mind-numbing scare of every time the LSV cornered, and she swung halfway out of the back. "I am not enjoying this!" she yelled over the growl of the engine, and the over din of the vehicle, as it screamed around corners, and everyone fired at anything that shot at them - which seemed like everything. At one point, she was sure a palm tree had a gun.

Her rifle cracked, and someone aiming a LAW pitched over backward. "Every time we are cornering, I am almost becoming road-pizza!" "Why didn't ya let me drive!" growled Barry as he loosed off a pair of shots at someone aiming a rifle toward them. Sarah was hunched over the wheel muttering obscenities as her eyes darted left and right, and it was Phil that replied. "Because we've seen you drive!" squeaked the mouse, emptying his BXP sub-machinegun at a pair of gunmen in a doorway and reloading one handed, before Sarah bought the LSV around in a shrieking handbrake turn, and then slammed the brakes. Nadia rattled off a burst from the Mk.19 auto-grenade launcher at a sand-bagged position near the rough-surfaced access road to the excavation site. The others hauled themselves out of the vehicle as the slim ferret fired with gusto. Thistle laid down suppressive fire, giving them all a chance to run to cover, and once they were safe Barry pressed one hand to his radio as they took cover. He changed over the magazine in the M14 from a drum magazine to a standard mag as they waited and caught they breath, the snap and click of magazines being changed, checked and loaded a chorus around them all, matched to panting breath. "This is Barry. We're at the entrance to the dig site. Resistance ain't too bad so far, nothin' we can't handle. Keep overhead though, we might need ya yet, over" "Roger,"_Charlottes' tinny Gallic voice replied. _"Be careful, over" _ _ Barry double-clicked the mike in reply, before looking over to the others. Sarah was taking aim with her TMP and exchanging fire with a pair of uniformed canines firing rifles toward their position. Thistle had lain down in position alongside a parked-up pickup with flat tyres, and was firing long hammering bursts back down the road toward an advancing group, splitting them and forcing them into cover while Nadia fed her belts for the medium machine gun. Phil was behind him, crouching in cover and covering their rear, while Sasha was taking aim around the 'dozer blade. Her SVD cracked as she let off a shot, and a sharp-shooter on one of the rooftops across the street collapsed like a puppet with cut strings, rifle tumbling to the ground. "Move to the access road," he called. "Fall back by the numbers, cover and move. Keep the pressure on 'em as we go!" They all did as he bid them, moving back in groups of two, covering one another as they fell back down the track, and into the fenced excavation area at the end. The dig area itself was sheltered behind a concrete enclosure with sturdy doors - Barry's face fell as he saw the other defence of the bunker-like structure. Parked at the front was a VBCI Infantry Fighting Vehicle. As soon as they'd appeared around the corner, the eight-wheeled armoured vehicle opened fire with its' automatic cannon. The group dived for cover, as the cannon chewed up the rubble-filled HESCO barriers, shredding the block-like fortifications. The IFV's co-axial machinegun opened fire as well, a lower chatter than the cannons heavy, thudding boom. Sasha whirled up from cover, rifle straight at her shoulder as she aimed for turret gunner - and the black vixen let out a cry as she fell back into cover. Thistle snarled and opened fire in reply, the M240 chattering loudly and long, sparks flying from the turret glacis plate, the vehicle rolling lightly on its' suspension with the impacts. Phil and Sarah were already at the Russians' side, dressing the wound. Luckily, it was simple, a straight in-and-out through the meat of her bicep. "Shit," muttered the wolf, taking a sighting down the EBR's sights, before ducking back into cover. They hadn't packed any anti-armour munitions - the intel hadn't predicted any armoured vehicles. But they had expected a trap, all the same. All wasn't lost though, since he quite literally still had friends in high places. "Phil! Get a laser on that thing, now!" "Right!" replied the mouse, throwing the last antiseptic wipe to the ground. Nadia moved in to take over the dressing and fixing-up of Sasha's wound. The mouse shrugged off the big backpack he wore, and pulled out the hard-cased box that contained the laser designator unit. Looking like nothing more than an over-sized pair of binoculars on a tripod, the mouse hurriedly set up the equipment. Hunkered down behind the barricades, and into a drainage ditch, the vehicles' gunfire didn't quite reach them, instead showering them with dust, stinging chips of stone and clods of dirt. However the rest of the defending forces had regrouped, and were moving up the road behind them. More gunfire and what sounded like light-machineguns were massing in pops and crackles behind them. Sasha's wound was taking up two people to sort, as well as Sasha herself, and with Phil busy setting up the designator, it left only he and Thistle to provide firepower. "Fuck!" he spat, yanking a grenade from one of his pouches, and pulling the pin. Giving a three count, he leapt to his feet and flipped the spoon off the grenade, lobbing it over arm toward the approaching soldiers. He dropped back instantly as the gunfire doubled, the crackling hiss of bullets zipping past his ears. Thistle opened fire again, her face a stony mask of determination as she let rip with the medium machinegun, the M240 hammering a constant song to his left. The badger was large and strong enough, that instead laying flat, she was in a one-kneed crouch, the guns' bipod braced loosely on the lip of the ditch, and her feeding the belt one handed, her other hand on the guns' grip. "Is done, fine, go, shoot, before we are all killed!" Sarah and Nadia scrambled away from Sasha, who awkwardly hefted her rifle left-handed, and braced against the lip of the ditch. Sarah scuttled into a crouch alongside him, and rejoined the firing, and more of the enemy were cut down, even as more rounds snapped at the team. "Lasers' up!" called Phil, a rising note of desperation in his voice. "I'll designate, but cover me, okay?!" "You heard the man," growled Barry. "Cover fire!" The troops attacking attempted to out flank them, spreading in a pincer around both sides of the ditch and barricade fence. Thistle shifted her arc of fire to cover their right, while Barry and Sarah covered the other. Nadia added her rifles' fire to Thistles machinegun, while Sasha shifted back to give Phil cover, picking off anyone who poked up their head, or looked to be wielding any kind of heavier ordnance. At one point, a perfect snapshot from her picked off someone who leapt up to throw a grenade. Shot point blank, he toppled backward and moments later the grenade exploded within their ranks. Sarah yelped and clutched one hand to her ear as they grimly fired for all they were worth - a bullet had grazed the tip of one ear. Snarling curses, the wolf chambered a round into the M203 under the EBR's barrel, and sent it sailing in the direction the round had come from. Payback was good; but payback with interest was far more satisfying. The 40mm shell exploded with a dull thump, and a wailing cry came from the vegetation in the area of impact. Sarah glowered in their direction, clutching her bloodied ear with one gloved hand. "You okay?" he said with some concern, glancing away from the rifles' sights as he fired, watching another one of the green-garbed defenders fall, and ducking as a volley of gunfire came back. Despite the fact they seemed to be using smart-looking modern bullpup assault rifles, they had shockingly bad accuracy, and obviously were unfamiliar with the phrase 'short, controlled bursts'. "Fine, fine," she hissed, waving him away. "My prides' hurt more than anything. Get that box on wheels designated, so the flyboys can blow that fucker away, and we can get off of this godforsaken rock". He gave an amused smile. If her attitude had survived, the wound can't have been too bad. He turned to Phil, who gave a terse nod, and squashed his face against the lasers' eyepiece. Pressing one hand to his comms headset and squatting into the cover, Barry spoke up. "Yo, Blade - we got a situation down here, and we need some close air support. There's an IFV guarding the dig site entrance, and it's kicking our asses. We've got a beam on it, can you take it out?"

Above, wheeling in the sky above the island, and pin-pointing Barry and the teams' location via the trail of smoke and occasional grenade explosions, Sean kept the squadrons' patrol pattern centred on the clearing below, and could see the ant-like dots moving on the dirt road hacked through the sparse undergrowth. As Barry's voice sounded, he squinted down, before tapping a screen control, zooming in with the IR camera mounted in the under-fuselage pods. The IFV was clearly made out, with its boxy body and wedge-shaped nose. The turret on the top was twisted toward the 'front' edge of the compound, and lashed out with gunfire, flashing on the camera. "Roger," he replied, keeping the IFV in the centre of the picture. The system picked up the laser as a steady beam, and he tapped the voice control button once more. "System, select bomb. Paveway three. LGB." "Confirmed, Paveway selected." _ _ Sean rolled the F-15X out into a shallow dive, nose pointed toward the target area. A thumbs' press on the weapon release button on the top of the joystick, and he pulled up lightly, feeling the plane lighten noticeably as one thousand pounds of weight left the bottom of the portside wing. The slight upward climb of the jet helped the bomb separate, and the tail fins popped out into the airstream. Microprocessors in the nose unit sent signals to the fins on the nose and tail, twisting them to keep the lasers' reflection from the IFV centred in the 'window' of the seeker, the bomb gaining speed as it dropped. Sean could follow the bomb through the dive, and toggled the communications as he pulled away once more. "Weapon released, and inbound. Danger close!" "Roger!" came the reply, along with some half-heard shouts.

On the ground, Barry yelled for everyone to take cover, and the group hunkered down in the ditch, arms over their heads and pressed to their ears, mouths wide open against the inevitable pressure wave. The gunfire rattled around them, before sporadically cutting out as the jets' engines screamed overhead and the ominous whistling of the bomb was heard. It lasted only for a few seconds before the surrounding noise was drowned out in the overwhelming thunder of the explosion. Wreckage bounced audibly off of the barricade wall, and the smell of burning rubber, plastic and metal burned eyes and noses. The wave of heat and sound passed over quickly, and the team carefully uncovered themselves, shaking heads, wincing and gasping at the ringing in their ears, but moving to retake their defensive positions all the same, their years of hard training serving them well. The shouts came from the road, with the sound of many moving bodies. While the air attack had broken the enemy around them, the lapse in fire from the team had given the remainder of the defenders a chance to regroup. Barry found his voice and called them to order, rapidly directing the defence as bullets again began to shower their position. Barry raised his EBR once more, while the others readied their weapons. As his gloved finger tightened on the trigger, the moment was broken as jet engines howled over their heads, accompanied by a rush of wind. The air was filled with the buzz saw hammering of automatic cannon, and the ground shook and rumbled, dust and debris flying. Wincing against the sudden gritty gust, the wolf blinked his eye open and looked up - the glow of engine exhausts receded, and the sound died down. The F-111 and Taia's F-15 had come in on the heels of Sean's bombing pass, and made a strafe run with their cannon, blowing things wide open for the team to move on the entrance to the cave-like area where the dig had been conducted. Gathering their weapons and their wits, the group climbed to their feet and moved in a leapfrog method from their covered position to the entrance, covering one another as they moved from one area of cover to the next. The IFV was nothing more than a smouldering, twisted shell, surrounded by a halo of scorched ground. The thousand-pound Paveway had completely shattered the vehicle, rendering it less than useless. Sections of scrap and debris had flown out in random patterns to fetch up against piles of equipment or foliage all around. Of the defenders, there was little sign beyond low moaning and cries back from the road. No gunfire met them this time, and they reached the enclosure over the dig area unmolested. The steel doors were buckled and scorched, but still hung in their frame. Barry rattled them experimentally and muttered. Thistle lightly but firmly pushed him aside, handing him her M240. The wolf took the machine-gun in his arms, half-juggling it with his M14 EBR to try and hold both as he stepped away. The hugely muscled badger braced herself, face masked in deep concentration as she worked her hands into the gaps in the buckled doors and heaved. Metal creaked as the muscles in the huge womans' back bunched and jumped, and her biceps bulged. Veins stood out in her neck, and her face shifted into a mask of furious effort, jaw clenched as she pulled, heaved, and hauled. The metal of the door shrieked in the frame and flexed bowing outward as Thistle pulled backward, taking a half-step back as the metal bent toward her¸ her immense strength winning over the strength of the metal. For long moments, it didn't seem as though anything would give, that the little amount she'd managed would be the extent of her triumph; until all at once, as if a switch flicked over, the metal gave out with a groaning, ear-wrenching shriek, and the doors swung open. Gasping deeply and wiping sweat from her fur, the badger staged back, and leant heavily against one of the doors, glaring into the interior of the excavated chamber. Wordlessly, Barry handed back her M240 and nodded in appreciation. The badger accepted the weapon, shifting her weight and standing back up straight, catching a breath and returning the nod. Nadia moved, slinky, sleek and silent to stand by her friends' side, and briefly, touched her shoulder, the gesture returned by the badger. "Barry here," he called on the radio, squinting into the dark, and then flicking in the flashlight attached to his gun. "All hostiles outside of the site are down or no factor. We've breached the doors to the site. Ready to move in, over" There was a pause for a moment, before Sean's voice came back in reply. "Roger, Barry. Move in, and be careful. There could be anything down there, over". "Roger," replied Barry. "Will do, over". Barry raised a hand, and waved everyone forward with hand signals. The interior of the cavern was dark, the dawns' light only reaching just inside the caves' mouth, and dulled by the billowing cloud of smoke from the VBCI's burning wreckage. "Night Vision," he commanded, and they all withdrew goggles from their packs, and slid them into place, before shouldering weapons and moving softly into the dark, cold cave.

TO BE CONTINUED

Glossary

Angels [altitude] - Pilots' shorthand for 'thousands of feet'. Angels twenty, for example, would be 20,000 Feet.

BDA/Battle Damage Assessment: A fly-over visual survey of a target hit by an airstrike, to estimate the effect of the damage done, and if the target of the strike has been eliminated as briefed.

BXP : Armscor BXP, a very small sub-machinegun, designed and produced by the South African company Armscor. Firing the common 9mm round from a box magazine, the BXP is broadly similar to the well-known Uzi sub-machinegun in appearance and function, but is much smaller and more modern.

GBU-16: Acronym and designation for Guided Bomb Unit-16, or a Paveway-III guidance kit attached to a 1000lb free-fall bomb.

IFV: Acronym for Infantry Fighting Vehicle. A more modern term that has somewhat replaced the term APC. An IFV carries a squad or unit of infantry into battle, then uses its' mounted weapons, sensors and communications systems to support them in combat. IFV's are well armoured against shrapnel and small-arms fire, and are often armed with autocannon in turrets, and sometimes anti-tank missiles and a machine-gun as secondary armament.

LGB: Laser-guided Bomb

LSV: Light Strike Vehicle, a general term used to describe a general type and class of vehicle derived from dune-buggy type vehicles, characterised by their welded tubular metal frames, light armament and armour, all terrain capabilities and powerful - for their size - engines. The LSV used by Barry and co in the story is a fictional model, built by Rachel.

M203: A single-shot 40mm calibre us-built and designed grenade launcher. Usually mounted under the front end of a rifle or other rifle-type weapon, the M203's breech is slid open to load a single round, which is then fired using a trigger attached to the M203. The stock of the rifle it is mounted to serves to help aim the launcher. Special 'stand-alone' stocks are also available. 40mm grenades are available in a number of types, including armour-piercing, non-lethal, smoke, flare and other types. While the Mk.19 automatic grenade launcher uses 40mm grenades as well, the two types are not interchangeable. The 40mm grenades are also unable to be used as hand grenades, and neither can hand grenades be fired from the launcher.

M240: A US-built and designed medium machine-gun, procured to supplement the outdated M60 machine-gun. Derived from the Belgian FN-MAG medium machine gun, the M240 is used in a number of countries around the world. Usually handled and fired by one operator, with a gunners' mate handling ammunition. Thistle is large and strong enough that she can handle the M240 like an oversized assault rifle.

Mark 19: The Mark 19 is an automatic grenade launcher, able to rapidly fire 40mm grenades in rapid succession, somewhat like a grenade machine-gun (in fact, a rival model is simple called the 'grenade machine gun'). As one would expect, this is a powerful and devastating weapon, both for its' actual and psychological effects. Large, heavy and complex, it can only be fired from a vehicle or tripod mount, and uses a belt of 40mm grenades as ammunition.

MFD: Multi-Function Display. A screen in the cockpit of a fighter or other vehicle that collates and shows various data from the aircrafts' sensors and systems for the pilots' reference, and allows them to enter commands and review the information presented. The 'Super' multi-function display in this story is fictional, but posits adding a browser or computer OS-like functionality, windows and menus with touch screens to increase the user friendly properties.

Magnum: The call made by a pilot when firing an anti-radar missile. In some conflicts, the call made on an open frequency has been enough to make an eavesdropping hostile radar operator shut down their equipment, even if a missile was not fired.

P** aveway:** A series of laser-guided bombs, developed initially by the USA, but developed further by many nations, and in use with many more. The Paveway is essentially a set of strap on fins and a guidance module for unguided bombs of various sizes to make them more accurate. The Paveways' nose sensor homes in on reflected laser energy from a designating aircraft or friendly ground unit, and then 'rides' the beam to the target, the computer package in the nose feeding commands to the fins to keep the bomb on target.

Piano Keys: The white lines at the end of a runway. Due to the black tarmac beneath, they are often nick-named 'piano keys', because of the alternating black-and-white.

VBCI: A French infantry fighting vehicle. Angular and armoured, it is an 8-wheeled vehicle with top-mounted turret. It has a three-man crew, and can carry a nine-man fire team in addition. The turret is armed with a 25mm autocannon, and a secondary machine-gun.