Bristling Skies
Eastern Cagnan, The Republic Of Nouvolouis
Though the rainy darkness of a day not yet three hours old, the small metropolis that was Fèvre Naval Airbase seemed a dormant, sleeping hive. Yet along one corner of the sprawling base, frantic activity was underway. Capitaine de l'Aéronavale Aurele Traver was scrambling about in the pilot's ready room, shrugging off his sodden civvie garb and donning his flightsuit and boots. Finally done, he reached into his locker, pulling out an item in each hand. The first was a glossy black helmet, pulled out of its canvas satched and held under his armpt. The second, was a perfectly bland brown paper bag, rather large and heavy, which the aviator handled with the greatest care as he exited the pilot accomodation block, crossed the short sheltered path, and stepped into the light of hangar. The first time he'd stepped foot in a place like this, as but a young Aircraft's Navigator, Traver recalled being almost bowled over by the sheer, frenetic pace that the crews, chiefs, technicians and maintainers seemed to live and breath by. Now with a good six fruitful years between now and then, a great deal to him yet not much time at all compared to most of his colleagues in rank, he dodged and weaved like the best of them past the equipment carts and stray hoses that dotted the hangar floor. Finally, Traver arrived underneath the great wings of the two behemoth Faucher AA 5.60s all these machines and men were there to serve, and the planes of his command; His Adelle, and his wingman's Danette. The very man himself spotted Traver's approach, excusing himself from his preflight checklist to meet him first. Lieutenant de l'Aéronavale Edgard Merle had a sheen of sweat over his brow, short of breath amidst the crowded chaos. "Bonjour, mon Capitaine. Thanks for finally making it on time, Reyer's already settled the Adelle's check-up. You got the Honey?" A smile and a raised arm, paper bag in hand, was Traver's response, and it seemed the Lieutenant appreciated it. He took it in his oil-stained gloved hands, reaching into it and pulling out a pair of green glass bottles, a murky gold liquid sloshing around within. "Honey" was the aviator's name for it, a lightly intoxicating tonic as sickeningly sweet and sticky as its namesake. A pricey gift, even on a Captain's salary, but Traver knew their day's orders, and decided it would be worth the cost. "Try not to finish the whole thing yourself, Edgard. And keep it away from Daviau, the weather's supposed to be pretty nasty until the sun rises." Merle seemed to focused on the bottle to notice his first remark, and gave a shrug and a laugh at the second. "Mon cher Capitaine, if you can't trust your pilots, I would think you would at least trust the Fauchers!" "I'm serious, Edgard." And he was. It would be hard to name a pilot who loved his birds as much as Traver, but he was nobody's fool. The Faucher may once have been a modern machine, but that time was before even his own. Traver had picked up his own Adelle fresh out of a costly rebuild, to fix its cracking wings and grinding engines, and heard that the rest of the fleet was hardly doing better. The Capitaine knew that the mighty Fauchers, the aircraft he'd built his career on, were flying on borrowed time. At least Traver knew his force, the 3e Patrouille Aéronavale (Est), would be helping give the old things a glorious goodbye. "Take the bottle, then get ready to go. We leave in an hour, and where we're going I suggest you bring a good jacket."
UCS Formidable
The pilots of the Forces Navales Nationales were not the only ones busy, that dark pre-dawn morning. Thousands of miles away, on an empty patch of sea that looked like every other empty patch of sea, four little wisps of vapor and mist seem to pop into the sky, like smoke from unseen chimneys. Soon, the little specks in the air grow in size, their colours shifting and blending. Hues of gold and red, violet and green, shoot out and fade, as the air around the points grow alive and buzzing with unseen, otherworldly energy. They grow and grow ever larger, faster and faster. In two minutes storm clouds form, thick tufts of technicolour cotton. Sharp, searing bolts of the purest lighting shoot out from it, and all around through it, jetting across the sky. In the pitch black darkness, flashes of light grow and gain shape, form. They illuminate, barely, the shadowy silhouettes of four ships, spaced out a kilometre or more away from one another, smothered in the dense fog. Then, came a deafening bang, to which the march of a thousand guns would not compare. A screech followed, a sound like a giant's knife stroked against a whetstone until it would be ground done to a mote. Then, in an instant, the screech turned into a single, great rip, like a thousand miles of sheet paper torn through the middle, and the clouds shot out every which way across the open sky. And then it was as if nothing had ever happened, and all that was left was the sea. Now, noticeably less empty. Four ships, leviathan hulls of grey painted steel, sat bobbing on the water, where before there had been nothing at all. One, the largest, bore a long, flat deck that stretched from end to end with a stretched island near the front, and another seemed more a floating apartment block than a seaworthy vessel. The other two were smaller things, with sharp bows and sleek lines broken by the odd missile emplacement, and a heavy gun turret at the fore. This was the United Commonwealth Navy's Task Group FORMIDABLE, in all its might and majesty. The destroyers UCS Echo and Pioneer at the fore, guarding their formation's namesake and flagship Formidable, and the cargo and troop laden transport UCFA Spring Rover. The formation, fresh from a day's voyage through the rigours of the Warp, immediately put on steam, sailing off across the waves on a southwestern course. Their destination was the Republic of Ngaionui, member of the Commonwealth and neighbour by a few thousand kilometres to the Republic of Nouvolouis. The Task Group had left its homeport of UCNB Klorat, far to the north on the shores of the Tokëere League, and been sent down south to prevent the growing calamity that seemed to be brewing on the horizon, a strong show of Commonwealth determination to defend its members and citizens. And at the head of this mighty host, they had chosen on of the finest Admirals who'd ever raised a flag. He was a cunning tactician, and combined with his diplomatic acumen his presence, no doubt, would show the Nouvolouians that the United Commonwealth would not be so easily swayed. ------ Rear Admiral Haidar "Holly" Daudi had not been a happy man the past few hours. Frankly, he hadn't been happy all week. And the briefing he was now about to receive, courtesy of his workaholic Chief of Staff Captain Myron Petros, was likely not designed to paint him a rosey picture of things. "So, Myrrie', what's come over the line since we left Warp? Start with the worst news." The salty old sea dog, a man who'd served with Holly in one way or another for the best part of fifteen years, grimaced, with a dark look in his eye. That told him a lot. "The Nouvo's aren't playing nice anymore. Remember that little spat over some spy in Cagnan a week before we left Klorat? They still do, and three hours before we left the Warp they ordered the Embassy evicted within twenty four hours over "this unacceptable abuse of our hospitality". Flash signal just came in over the STORMLIGHT, Admiralty wishes us best of luck, high speeds, and a combat air patrol up every damned second we're not within air cover range of Ngaionui." "Well, good to know our 'deescalation' mission's off to a fine start!" Haidar surprised himself with the outburst, slamming a fist into his stateroom's old oak desk. And beneath his icey gaze, Myron was starting to feel the heat too. "Well, any word about the actual threat? If they're sending a STORMLIGHT just to tell us to be careful, I expect they've got quite the bee in their bonnet." "Indeed they do. The submarines Terreur and Fureur put to sea twelve hours ago, but the Tracker's supposed to have kept a good eye on one of them. There's supposed to have been some activity with their Maritime Aviation over in western Cagnan, but little else is concrete. Apparently, there's a ground team deployed there, codename PIVOT, set to call in anything interesting they see. Reyna's camping out in the Signals station for if, or when, that happens." "And, one hopes at least, that whoever it is we've got there won't start off a second little spat." The two man sit their in silence for a moment, both lost in the sheer thought of the mission that lay before them. And what exactly was that mission now, anyways? The Nouvo's had been brave, which was why Haidar was sent here, but evicting an embassy was the sort of thing that ended in only one way, in which case the presence of his Task Group would serve a very different purpose. And so, and not for the first time, it dawned on Haidar how the power of his three ships of war --- and the little ferry that kept them company --- was not really very much at all. "Sir, there is the matter of that little ruse, which we might still wish to consider?" Ahh, yes. That plan, which had occupied a fair bit of his time during the voyage. A little risky as far as doing anything of value was concerned, and with every second spent deliberating over it, it seemed ever more obvious that only a truly mad person would have been able to come up with it. Which is to say, his Intelligence officer, Commander Reyna Savala, who'd even done her homework before submitting it to review. And yet, it seemed a mad world out there. "Yes, there is. Tell Hog I want one of the Hotels wrung up for the modification, but keep at least one normal one in the sky with it at all times. I intend to keep at least some sensor coverage, and I'd say it'll add to the illusion." Myron nodded. He'd mostly expected that response, as much as he had his own misgivings on it. Captain Douglas "Hog" Leyman, head of the Formidable's rather dimunitive air wing, did as well. In fact, Haidar he knew he thought the whole idea was absolute rubbish, rather disliking the idea of giving up any of his three "Hotels"; what most aviators called the Auxin Auspice "Air Combat Coordinator" aircraft that provided them with almost omniscient situational awareness. No, he wouldn't be happy at all. Join the club, Haidar thought. "Understood, boss. Anything else?" "Tell Hog what the STORMLIGHT said, I'm sure he'll be glad to keep his birds in the air at this ungodly hour. I want flights of three, rotating on the hour, and the Hotels up in no more than two." "And one last thing. Acting within my powers as commander of this Task Group, I want every sailor and aviator here to know that as far as I am concerned, every second we're outside Ngaionui airspace is to be spent on a war footing. Carry on."
The Apôtre Heights
Malik's opinion of his own plan of action was dropping at pace with the temperature and rain. At least he'd been able to dry his jacket properly in the days since his return, courtesy of his host's safehouse amenities, but camping out in the freezing rain in a shallow woodland ditch from well before to well past midnight was not something done for the comfort of it, as far as this agent of Naval Intelligence was concerned. To his right, he could make out the black clad form of Corporal Asa Maasaki, who appeared utterly unbothered by either time or temperature. The Special Naval Action Service operator was lying on her side, fiddling with the olive drab contraption that was ultimately their raison d'être. "Is the Spotter doing alright?" He received an annoyed grunt for his troubles, as the Corporal continued her valiant struggle. After a minute, she tossed the thing to the side, brow furrowed. "Nope. The Crack's down, but sights and thermal still works. We'll get a good look at them, but the only way anyone's gonna know is with the Set back at the house." Well, that wasn't the worst it could have been. The Special Purpose Optic "RED TAIL" in the official books, though everyone who used it just called it "the Spotter", might have been a useful piece of kit, what with its all-weather, high definition thermal and low light viewing ability, and in-built Communication Crystal frame that let you transmit what you saw instantly. But if you ever got the chance to ask a field user on their thoughts on the machine, they'd qualify that statement with "if any of it doesn't break". "Damn. I'll rig up the signal pack, get it linked with their---" "Are you out of your bloody mind, agent? We're in spitting distance of the largest Nouvo' airbase on the continent, and you want to start singing like a choirboy over the airwaves? When we spot the birds, we're walking back." Her concern was more than warranted. A few hundred metres downhill before them, the sprawling expanse of tarmac and grey concrete that was Fèvre Naval Airbase appeared to be a slumbering giant, but it likely wouldn't stay that way for long. It appeared someone far higher up than either of them had a little bird chirping in their ear, since little short of that would encourage the paranoids of the Admiraly to put a team on an operation so close to a military installation of a nation that seemed on the brink of using it. "Understood, Corporal. Preparing to take a hike in --- hold on, there's a hangar opening!"
Adelle And Danette
"Finally, took those fools long enough!" Even from within the plane's belly, Traver could hear his pilot's grumbling. Enseigne de l'Aéronavale Charles Denis was the sort of pilot who could handle twelve or more hours in the air on patrol without so much as a light cramp, yet to whom the attempts of the air controllers to keep him from that task was a test of his patience. As the Adelle started taxiing out of the hangar and down the runway, with Danette pulling up the rear, Denis began rattling off his checks and readouts to the control tower. Traver sat at his command console, cramped in the too small leather chair, with the rest of the crew not busy flying the plane surrounding him at their own stations. For the moment, he busied himself with the charts and patrol orders, ordinarily more than enough to take up his time. Today, he had a manila envelope with an Admiral's wax seal in his flightsuit pocket, whose contents promised to be far more interesting. "Adelle, Danette, this is Fèvre-Control. Rise to fifteen-thousand metres, speed to three hundred knots, set heading to meet at Patrol Route C. Do not, repeat, do not activate emission sensors, keep to your passives and maintain signal silence once we've taken off." Three voices replied over the signals net in the affirmative. Traver figured that was enough to get them thinking, if the pre-flight mission brief wasn't. For the past week, they'd been flying their maritime patrol route as per usual, Wave Emission Sensors active and radiating over the seas. While this made for good information on damn near everything either on or above them, the electronic emissions in question were as noisy as a church bell to those who took the time to listen, and for the next few hours the sole purpose of these two aircraft was to appear as if they did not exist at all. The airframe vibrated, quaking as the Faucher's four massive engines roared to full power. With a heavy jerk, the aircraft and its five crew took to the skies.
The Apôtre Heights
The hangars slammed shut almost fast as they opened, their bright light going with them. Still, even in the pitch black darkness and curtains of rain, Malik could see what the aircraft in question were. Or, more accurately, hear. "Ah, that'll be the the Air Patrol. They like to keep a few birds, Fauchers usually, up in the air at all times to keep an eye on things out at sea." Maasaki nodded, but put the sight up against her eyes to check nonetheless. "You're right, there's a pair of them. Do they fly them up alone, or with any other aircraft?" Malik thought to himself that there was something a little bit off with the way the Corporal asked the question, as if she thought she knew his answer already. "I was never tasked with getting their 'Op protocols specifically, but I got to chat with some of the pilots. Yes, as a rule, since none of the other aircraft they've got have the endurance to stay up as long. So, unless something very different is supposed to happen, we won't be seeing much else take off too soon." Maasaki let out a snort at that, but stayed quiet for a moment, looking through the spotter as the planes lifted off before she spoke. "Alright, let's go with that. I'd prefer to call it in anyways, but it'd take an hour just to get back to the safehouse, and I don't fancy leaving this place out of sight for a second. Until "something very different" happens, I suggest we stay here." Half an hour later, it did.
Fèvre Naval Airbase
"I want my birds in the air, now!" Annoyingly, but not unexpectedly, Amiral Alard Macon's instructions were met first with a stunned silence from his subordinate, standing opposite around the chart table. He'd barged in through the doors of the underground command centre barely a moment ago, and it seemed that Contre-Amiral Henri Sourd, the base's dubiously capable commander, was still trying to process that, as were the silently nervous staff officers that rushed around behind him. Macon would have preferred to never have to rely on this man in his life, but the base commander was quite outside his power. When Sourd did speak, he made the unfortunate error of not agreeing. "Monsieur Amiral, the Regiment is not yet ready! The plans said---" "My plans, young man! And looking at the situation I have changed them. Louis!" A second man, who'd hung behind his superior, stepped forwards. Contre-Amiral Louis Paquet shared his commanders opinion of the commander, but the Chief of Staff was not the sort who expressed such thoughts. He preferred to leave that to the Admiral. "About an hour ago, a patrol craft reported detecting significant Warp Transit signatures of a similar character to those employed by the warships of the United Commonwealth. Taking into account the time and place of the signatures, we conclude that the ships of Task Group FORMIDABLE have left Warp before we projected them to, and are now sailing through the open ocean and towards their bases in Ngaionui." With his brief concluded, Paquet stepped back, leaving the stage to his boss. "Do you see what that means, Henri? I can't imagine exactly why they have decided to extend their journey through the sea by so many thousands of miles, but it helps us nonetheless. We have a patrol in the air already, non? They may have been told it would be a few hours yet until we called on them to act, but it makes little difference. Contre-Amiral, the aircraft of your airbase will soon be in prime position to write their page in history, if we move now!" It gave him little pleasure to have to resort to such pleasantries, but it had the desired effect on the man before him. Apparently, it had finally dawned on him that he was now a wartime commander. Finally. With that, Macon took a step back, watching as the commander ran about the room with a freshly discovered vigour. He cajoled and ordered his staff around. His orders now in the process of being executed, Macon turned back to look at the charts and maps, mind racing with thoughts of what lay ahead.
The Apôtre Heights
"Well, there goes a quiet night!" A mere twenty minutes had passed since the two patrol birds had lifted off. It was as if someone had flicked a switch. In a matter of seconds, the vast airbase that lay before them sprung to life, ground crews and haulers laden with equipment rushing about all over the place like lines of foraging ants. Dozens of towering hangar doors split open, and soon the air was filled with shouting, and the whining and growling of engines. Corporal Maasaki snapped around at the sight, eyes wide. She overcame her shock faster than Malik did, raising her spotter to her eyes and panning left and right, taking in the scene in seconds. "Damn! I count five big hangars opening up on the nearest runway, can't tell how many further off. At the moment, looks like about fifteen aircraft, just on this side." She handed him the sight, and finally he was able to get a good idea of what he was seeing. It was not good. "Call it as many on the otherside, makes about thirty. That enough to get us moving?" She paused to think, then shook her head. "Not yet. If we still had the Crystal, I'd call it in, but now we wait until they start taking off so we can count 'em properly. I don't think that'll take too long, looking at this crowd, so get ready to take walk."
Adelle And Danette
The minute his flight reached its designated patrol station, Traver tore open his envelope, pouring over its contents. It was much as he had expected, though the arrival of a broadcast from base to his aircraft soon after was not. The instructions for his patrol were rather simple, hardly different from what he'd been training to do for years; There are someone else's ships, somewhere out at sea. Go and find them. The difference, of course, was what he was to do after they'd been found. When he first read the brief, it seemed like that eventuality would come very soon. Now, an hour of flying over the vastness of open waters later with nothing to show for it, part of him wondered if it would happen at all. Sois patient, he reminded himself. He'd been on flights far longer than this. He wiped his forehead, coming away with a sheen of sweat in the freezing aircraft's interior. That may have been the case, but the next few hours would be like nothing he'd ever seen before.
Eastern Cagnan, The Republic Of Nouvolouis
Fèvre Naval Airbase was not the only hive of hornets stirring to life. Two more sprawling complexes roared awake, flight crews at each receiving their final briefs and orders. They kept a solemn company, cheerful as pallbearers as they entered their aircraft and prepared to take to the skies. Until a few hours ago they'd known around as much about what was to come as their opposite numbers on the other side did, possibly less, though the recent intensive excercises that wore man and machine down to the bone were foreboding signs. They knew now. First came the Fauchers, thirty of the great four-engined turboprops rising into the gloom from the tarmacs of Fèvre, just as many as their unseen seers had thought. The winged beasts were so heavily laden that they seemed to hang in the air, just above the strip, for a moment, and the traffic controllers muttered prayers for their departing comrades as they rose off. After them, twenty Gloires rose from each surrounding base, forming three long strands of steel grey shapes streaking across the overcast skies. By the time they reached the coast, one little ditch in the woods was empty, its previous occupants running at full tilt to another hole to the west. It took twenty minutes to reach the safehouse, and another ten until they got the word out south. WIP
UCS Formidable
----- SAVALA ------ Five minutes later, Commander Reyna Savala had the message in hand and a grimace etched on her face. She ran down with it to the Formidable's Combat Control Center and handed it over to Admiral Haidar: 0512-L PIVOT SENDS WARNING AIR RAID THIRTY STRIKE FAUCHERS STRONG TAKE-OFF AT 0422 HEADING EAST FROM FEVRE Haidar read it out twice, and shot a look at Captains Petros and Leyman. He muttered a soft curse, then spoke. "Well, looks like our friends out on the continent have been busy. Any thoughts, Hog?" The air boss crossed his arms, a tired look in his eyes. He read the form, then looked over the main plot. Already the command staff were busy, charting circles to mark out the maximum extent of the bomber's reach. The Fauchers weren't supposed to be terribly fast birds, but already they were far enough from shore to give them all a good fright. "Well, Sir, there's a few things we can do without starting a war first. I can keep the Hotels around to keep the ruse going, though we won't know how well it worked 'til the missiles let fly. I propose we get ready to move the air patrol up to five Arrows per flight within the hour, and start stationing them further out. It'll eat into their time-on-station, but we'll need to face the strike as far out as we can get to make use of the Slapshots' range." "Sounds good to me. Any ideas, Commander?" Reyna seemed surprised to be called up, but after a moment she collected her thoughts. "Yes, sir. You don't send a strike force blundering across the sky and relying on dumb luck. I'd say there'll be a good sized pack of their recon Fauchers out to play spotter, and according to the brief that might pass for the sort of routine activity which the PIVOT team might not bother calling out." The assembled officers grimaced at that, and Leyman scanned the plot again before speaking. "So, we've almost certainly got a good sized flock of some damned fine patrol birds not emitting a thing, just listening out for our own sensor signatures. I don't suppose we'll get to give our slinking watchers something else to think about, Sir?" "Under no circumstances, Hog." Haidar's murderous glare was more than deterrent enough anyways, but he wanted to make the point clear to his hard punching subordinate. Deescalation missions did not seek to escalate, after all. In the back of his mind he thought it a foolish order himself, but it came over loud and clear from the Admiralty overlords. And what if it is all some strange show, and we make it out of it alright? He knew the odds that was the case, and wouldn't bet a penny on them.
Adelle And Danette
"Contact, Capitaine! We have an emission." Traver almost lept out of his seat, and around him the crew were similarly jolted into focus. "Bearing and range, Danette? Are you sure it is the target?" “Patience, Capitaine. Triangulating now.” He strained to keep his voice level, his mind racing as his own air crew checked and rechecked their instruments. Merle worked his panel like a church organ, timing and identifying those faint whispers from far away. "Emission signatures indicate one airborne and one surface carrier emission sensor, both Commonwealth Navy pattern." Traver's navigator began plotting the target on his charts, and in seconds his own operators confirmed the plot. He licked his suddenly dry lips, and slowly shared a look with each of them. Somewhere out west lay their target, and greatest fear. The ship and the Auspice aircraft it carried made for a deadly pairing. With its flight crew of four the Auspice could manage the activities of a whole wing of carrier aircraft, could make out a hummingbird from two hundred miles away and vector in a fighter interceptor to greet in within seconds. In the back of his mind, Traver wondered if they, too, might have been seen. Just how accurate was their information on these Commonwealth birds, anyways? Well, the commander consoled himself, we might be about to start a war, but they don't know that, and they likely aren't about to do it themselves. And if they did, his first and last warning would be the shrill screech of his sensor receiver telling him that an enemy Arrow had a lock on his aircraft, and its supersonic Slapshot missile was about to knock him out of the sky. He'd take those odds. Not that it was much of a choice. "Understood, Danette. Prepare data for broadcasting to the main group." Things were moving fast now. He had what he was there for, a firm and fixed position and track on the Commonwealth Carrier, and its escorts were likely not far away. In the heat of the moment he thought to himself that aside from the long wait it seemed an all too easy mission, getting such a good track on both the aircraft and carrier--- Wait. "Ready to transmit, Capitaine." So lost in thought was Travers, that he didn't even register his subordinate's increasingly concerned cries. Why was the carrier emitting its sensors, if it already had its own air controller out... "Your orders, Capitaine?" Monb Dieu! He grabbed onto the microphone, spitting out his words. "Do not transmit! I say again, do not transmit our current plot!" The line was dead silent for a second, during which Traver's mind raced over his revelation. For a moment he doubted his own head, but a deep scan through his equipment, subjecting the electronic signatures to a withering inspection, quickly proved him right. "What do you mean, Adelle?" He took a breath of chilled air, collecting his thoughts. "Danette, I do not believe that this is our target. We've read their manuals, why have the carrier emit at all, especially so close by? Why this course, which brings them towards us? Check the signature again, Merle, look at it! Both the ship and its launched Auspice aircraft carried sensors that could
UCS Formidable
Captain Karlene "Cabby" Sauer was outside the bridge now, taking in the cool sea air out on the island. Not quite fresh air, thanks to the fumes of jet fuel and machine oils, but it was better than staying inside with the crew. For almost the first time in a thirty year long life at sea, she found herself bothered. Not scared, certainly. If she was looking for fear, she'd found it back in the front seat of a fresh-off-the-line Auxin Arrow, with missiles gummed up, an ATO in the backseat knocked out, and a Sternschnuppe crawling up her ass with its own seekers working just fine. But back then, of course, she'd been able to blast that scheisser out of the sky and get back on deck in time for a drink. Now she was the deck, not the fighter, and her days of being the one in the seat were long past. Now, it did no good to those she lead and served to see their captain nervous. She looked off to her left, in time to see the roaring slender form of another Arrow crash onto the deck, catching the first wire and slamming to a stop in a heartbeat, and by another it was swarmed by deck crew in their brightly coloured overalls. Even this early, the Formidable was a buzzing hive of activity, and the rest of the Task Group was scarcely less busy. The precisely timed flashes of signal lamps flickering through the dark may have seemed strangely antiquated coming from these warriors of the modern world, but they were the only 'emissions' they were making, and aside from them the four ships were nothing but dark grey shapes cutting through the choppy seas. "Mornin', skipper. How's the view?" "Riveting, Holly. Better than looking at the charts, I'd say." The Admiral let out a snort in reply, walking over the gangway beside her. "Once you make Flag rank, you'll have to get used to that." They both laught at that suggestion. Then, Haidar moved onto more a more serious topic. "That was a good trick with the Hotels, by the way. I do need to thank you for that one." "Well, it's hardly me you ought to thank. All I did was veto Hog's veto of your Intelligence Officer's plan. Reyna, right? She's got a good head about her, for a spook." "Reyna Savala, yes, and I'll tell her you said that, then. You think it'll work?" She felt a smile grow in reply, nodding slowly. "Well, you know the first rule of thing's that work; They do, until they don't. In this case, though, I think there's reason to be confident. Reminds me of that little trick we pulled back in Saxe-Mecklitz, though that one was with one of the Army's heavy lifters. I'm surprised they let us borrow it then, for something so risky, but it worked out well enough then, so I'd give us good odds now." "I certainly hope you're right, Cabby." With that, they stepped back inside. ------ ------ The raid commander's Gloire was the only one fitted out with a Comm Crystal, and so when he received the transmission from the patrol craft over that system he was forced to relay it to his two squadrons over the conventional airwaves. So tense were they that even the low power transmission was cut as short as possible, lest their quarry be tipped off as to its fate. The Chevaliers were things of beauty, finely crafted machines on silver wings that soared through the sky at six hundred knots. As much treasure and time had been put into their creation as had been put into the bombers that carried them here, and in twenty minutes, they'd find out if they were worth the cost. Flying in a wide wedge, the Arrows each carried a heavy payload. Six --- and four --- per jet, though at this range only the [range] former, with their onboard active sensors, were of much use. They launched these first, rippling XXX in ten seconds and flying onwards on their tails. With a speed of XXX the [---] rapidly climbed up and away, not even leaving a plume of white vapour as they went.
Writer's Notes, Nothing To See Here
And so went the old adage of war, and those who fought it: Wait and see.
Captain Radka Petkova
Captain Gamal Rafiq
Captain Douglas "Hog" Leyman
Rear Admiral Haidar "Holly"Daudi
Captain Karlene Sauer
Captain Gido Femia
Commander Reyna Savala
I don't know what to say, that hasn't been said before. I wish I could hold a candle up to your level of writing, mate. You astound me every time you start putting your words to paper. And as always, I'm excited to see what happens!