Scott and St. Helen watched with keen eyes as Kei and Rodrieguez worked over the enemies' positions. The volleys of rockets from them both tore up the verdant tropical landscape, scattering smoke and debris wide and afar. The entrenched troops and their vehicles were torn apart by the high explosive fury of both pilots' attacks, leaving a shattered mass of wreckage, debris and destruction in their wake. Greasy thick black palls of smoke climbed and twisted into the air from the enemies' former positions, their line in disarray from the momentous air-strike. The chaos was only intensified as Kei's aircraft rolled back in, and scattered submunitions all along the roadway and secondary positions to the north of the town. Trucks and troops in motion set off the bomblets with dazzling explosions, and everything else came to a halt or wildly tried to avoid the pattern of laid-down explosives, with little success. 
"Great work," St. Helen sounded from her position as she panned the ASF-14's targeting cameras and systems across the area. "I see a lot of good secondaries from the rocket attacks too. Bomblets have closed the road off as well. Heartbreak; we're in hot for our run on the arty"
"Rog," he confirmed in a firm, short word. The big, swing-winged fighter zig-zagged down from altitude, banking and yawing as it sawed across the rooftops, Scott popping a pair of flares for good measure as he lined up on the road. From the rear cockpit, St. Helen used the LANTIRN on the bottom of the fuselage to laser-designate the artillery pieces as the jet levelled off under Scott's hand. He mashed the weapon release with each lock-on, sending a laser-guided 1000,lb paveway to each position. The bombs righted themselves and twisted their fins as they sailed in, following the reflected laser beam with unerring precision in each case, their tiny robotic minds fixated on the spot, before they hit home with tremendous blasts, leaving twisted wreckage in their wake. A single truck on the road also received a burring burst of fire from the Tomcats' vulcan cannon as Scott saw a target of opportunity, before climbing out of the run, rolling half inverted and breaking hard in the climb to dissuade any shooters. 
"Targets hit and burning!" he called over the radio. "Move on to our next group; anything in the river we send to the bottom, over".

***
With hostile fighters in the air and bound in on them, the Dragonflies didn't sit around. Weaving and evading for all they were worth, the little attack planes firewalled their throttles as they tried to shake off the inbound missiles. With wings fully loaded and with little power - comparatively, to the bigger jets against them - they didn't have much hope. Of the pair attacked, the first was hit belly-on by the AIM-120 as the Dragonfly pulled into a desperate turn toward the missile in an attempt to turn inside its' circle. The AMRAAM exploded directly beneath the crew compartmet, shredding both crewmen virtually instantly. The second A-37 turned nose on and dived, trying to present the narrowest profile to the inbound projectile. Nonetheless, the AIM-120's seeker and the guidance from the Tornado ADV's radar was too good; the missile impacted at mid-wing on the Dragonfly, slewing it into a flat turn. Shrapnel slaughtered the right-side crewman, but his body shielded his colleague, who managed to pull his handle and eject, his parachute barely opening before he disappeared into the canopy of trees, the cessna spinning wildly into the rainforest and expanding into a cloud of flame and debris.
The third of the little planes turned back; the loss of its' fellows was no little thing, and the little ground attacker was no match for three much higher-spec aircraft. Going as low as its' brave pilot dared, the plane zipped over the treetrops, moments later dropping its' gear as it circled a gap in the trees; a roughly hacked-out airstrip in the boundaries of a clearing. Sheds and portable container-type buildings marked it as some kind of logging or industrial site, pressed into the task. People ran back and forth in the clearing, readying for the little planes return as it dropped lower. 

From the north east, a quartet of radar returns briefly flashed on screen, almost ghosting, before dropping off again. Moments later, lock-on warnings sounded on the three aircraft of the air-to-air elment, and missiles flashed toward them. In the clear skies of the morning sun, a distant gleam and glimmer could be seen of a canopy in the sunlight.

***

Scott rolled the Super Tomcat out level, following the course of the river further inland from overhead. The Major had informed them he was pressing on with the attack, and small explosions and movement on the ground could be seen as the Gendarmes and militia pressed their attack, pushing back the rebellious invaders, now stripped of their artillery, air support, and reinforcements. However, unless the Black Knights could hinder the advance up the river, the defenders risked being caught in a pincer from behind; the launch site also risked being overrun from the north to boot.
"Ahead, got contacts on the river. See 'em?" Scott banked the jet slightly for a better view of the ground. Indeed, on the river, were several wakes moving abreast. They looked like a variety of small boats, moving in a group. Tracers arced up toward the flight of aircraft: small arms fire, and a few mounted light and medium machine-guns, by the look of things. 
"Targets on the river," he called out to the others. "Three groups of four, moving at slow speed. Got small arms comin' off of em, looks like the reinforcements. I'm rollin' in hot, over!"
Circling the ASF-14 around the group of boats, he aimed to hit the rearmost trio. The paveways that had been mounted under the tomcats' body had all gone to the artillery positions, but for the flotilla, the Super Tomcat had been loaded up with Mavericks. Once again, St. Helen drove the crosshairs onto the targets, and Scott ripple-fired the AGM-65's. The stubby-looking air-to-ground missiles tore through the air on white trails, blasting apart the helpless boats in plumes of dirty water, smoke and flame. Circling overhead, Scott kept watch as he waited for the others to make their attacks.