Chaos descended on the radio, as surviving ground, naval and air units all tried to establish contact with HQ and ask for clarification on what happened. Everything went silent as a stentorian, authoritative male voice cut across the channel.
"This is AWACS Stormfront, I'm taking over traffic control while the tower gets back online. Everyone calm down and prioritise! The chain of command is still intact, and commanders will be in touch momentarily. Thunder Island avoided a direct hit - the Kinetic Strike hit the ocean a couple of miles off-shore. The resulting tidal impact and the concussion caused a lot of damage, but the water is already receding. Once damage crews clear the debris, we should be able to start recovering planes. The civilians are mostly fine - Civil Defence got them to the shelters as soon as the attack began, so we should be looking at low casualties for the civilians. Our casualties on the ground are still coming in. Now, all pilots pay attention and listen for your orders..."
The AWACS controller began to direct and divert aircraft according to their situation, dealing with everything calmly yet swiftly. The controller was evidently expert at his job; he seemed to know the fuel levels of each squadron by heart, and was able to organize everyone effectively. Shortly, he came to deal with the Black Knights, and included Rodriguez in the conversation too.
"Black Knights, Warrior Three. Spirit, Viper, and Viking; you are all directed to join up with the Black Knights as per your previous briefing - only now, it's at a bit more short notice. Rendezvous with them, and proceed on heading nine-zero for handover to the [i]Stormcloud,[/i] which will be coming on station. Further orders will be forthcoming once you reach the carrier. Thunderbolt One will be there in person to deliver your orders, I've been assured"

Scott glanced at St. Helen in the mirror, who returned the surprised look - Thunderbolt One was no other than General Dylan Thomas, the founder and head-honcho of Thunderbolt Black himself. If he had a mission to deliver, it must be important. 
"Roger, Stormfront. Wilco. Break. Spirit, Viper, Viking: welcome to the Black Knights. Shame it had to be under these circumstances. Your callsigns will be Knights Five through Seven. All aircraft, come onto heading nine-zero and altitude Angels Twenty. Slot into formation, and we'll head for the boat".
Scott set the Super Tomcat into a gentle climb, curling the aircraft in a light bank toward the heading. He unstrapped his oxygen mask as he did so, taking a moment to get a sip of water from the small flask in his thigh pocket at the same time. Beside him, St. Helen did the same, leaning back from the radar scope and rubbed her eyes, looking out of the canopy for a few moments, before shifting in her seat too, as they waited for the others to join them in a strung-out staggered line formation. 

Miles passed under their wings, in the distance other islands of the Bahamas were visible, slipping away, until slowly but surely the wake of the Stormcloud, the giant trimaran aircraft carrier of Thunderbolt Black, and her escorting flotilla of support ships became visible. The deck was busy as aircraft orphaned by the attack on the base landed and recovered, while others refuelled from airborne tankers. The controller came on the channel and directed them into the pattern, and all too soon it was their chance to land.
"This is Knight One," Scott announced. "I'll head in for landing, everyone else land in trail. See you on the deck".
Scott set the ASF-14 up for the approach for the carriers' wide rear deck. The gear dropped and locked into place, the tailhook following suit. Brakes and flaps extended, wings fully out. All lights checked green, and everything prepped. Scott carefully rode the throttle and gauges, St. Helen serving as a second pair of eyes and a coaxing voice as he dropped the aircraft closer to the gently moving carrier deck in the controlled crash that was a carrier landing. 
Despite the relatively slow speed, the deck of the ship rushed up at his plane, and then with a jarring thump the plane hit the deck. The hook caught the second wire, and both of them were slammed forward in their seats with the sudden, jarring deceleration. Almost immediately the Tomcat was waved aside, and Scott fed power into the engines to taxi out of the path of the landing aircraft, the Tomcats' wings sliding back to full sweep as the big jet moved aside. 

Once the jet was shut down, the crew pulled and pushed it into place. Scott and St. Helen unstrapped and unfastened themselves with the help of the deck crew, before clambering down from the cockpit to the deck.
"Let's hope the others make it down," said St. Helen, tossing her hair free of the helmet and tucking it under one arm. 
"Fingers crossed," Scott replied. "But given what we've seen out of them so far, I have no doubts they can all manage it. Although - I have no idea about Spirit and the other two. Let's see what they're made of. Good to have the others with us. After everything that happened, I was worried they might've been caught on the ground, or shot down". 
Both of them stood well out of the way, and trained their eyes toward the skies, and looked to pick out the shape of the next approaching plane.