Scott and St. Helen listened and looked on with pleasure as the rest of the squadron joined them in the air, neatly slotting into formation with the ASF-14. As soon as they were all together, Scott peeled them gently off of the southward leg of their circling orbit, and over the open ocean towards the northern shoulder of South America, just under five hours away at their chosen speed. 
He glanced briefly to the west; from this altitude, a vague pall of smoke in the distance showed Thunder Island's location; still wounded and healing. He quietly said an angry prayer to whoever was listening, before smoothly settling the jet in for the maximum efficiency cruise to their refuelling point. 

The flight was, blissfully, uneventful. The airwaves, reported St. Helen, were busier than usual following the unexpected attack. US forces and others national militaries in the Carribbean area were all on high alert. Cuba was especially stirred up - but then, that was nothing new. The large regional power had been especially unsettled as of late, and the attack on a nearby island was another fly in the ointment for them. So far, at least, the turbulent nation hadn't attacked anyone else.

Nobody or nothing challenged the Black Knights as they headed south, and their communications with the Stormcloud were regular. As they hit the refuelling anchor at the mid-point of their journey, St. Helen also reported that the E-2 Hawkeye was online. Scott fed the info out to the others, and listened in the channel as the operator spoke up, reporting in with more intel.
"Good Afternoon Black Knights, this is Watchman. I have your position marked and noted, you're looking good for a run in to Cayenne Airport. The Space Center hasn't reported any difficulties as yet; though the local Gendarmes have been investigating sightings of heavily armed groups in the rainforest, and there's been fighting further to the East and West. Contact has also been intermittent with smaller settlements further out. Also, to add to bad news, we've got heavy weather patterns moving in. Looks like a good tropical storm brewing up. On the upside, it'll hinder their movements as much as our own, and it won't hit until after you've touched down. The C-130's are also an hour or so out from landing, and have supplies for your squad on board. Home base has also put together a reinforcement unit for the security forces at the Spaceport itself, and they'll be departing shortly; though they too might get held up by the weather. I'll keep you abreast of any further info".
"Roger, Watchman. Thanks for the info, we'll keep an ear tuned to you. Out".
Scott switched his attention back to the matter at hand: the squadron's in-flight refuelling. The ASF-14 was fine, it could manage with internal fuel to hit the target. But some of the other thirstier aircraft would need refuelling, especially after launching from the carrier. The KC-10 crew checked in, and the big, grey three-engined tanker was visible trolling along ahead, it's white-grey hide gleaming in the later-afternoon sun. 
"Afternoon, boys and girls," came a laid-back voice over the radio. "We were in the area, and heard y'all might need a top up. Form an orderly queue, we got plenty to go around, over". 
"Okay, squad," Scott took over. "You heard the fine gentleman. Prioritise in order of your fuel need, and go through the process like in training. Nice and simple, just fly the probe into the basket".

Eventually, his own turn came around, and he easily flew the prove on the right-side of the Tomcats' nose into the canvas basket trailing behind the converted airliner. With a meaty THUNK, the nozzle connected and fuel began to pump freely. At the midway point, there was no need for a full load; after all, they weren't turning straight into combat at the other end, and were instead heading for a landing. The tanks topped off quickly, and Scott broke away with a touch of brakes and pedals as the tanker climbed away and banked opposite, flashing its' lights to the squadron as it headed away and for home.
"All right, ladies and gents," he called, coming back on the air. "Everyone's bellies should be nice and full. Let's head on in to our new digs. Keep on the lookout from now. While Watchmans' reported no activity, doesn't mean it'll stay that way. Give everything a check over, and stand by".
Once again, he took position at the head of the formation, and they continued on. Watchman reported in shortly after to deliver the news that the C-130's had landed without incident, and less fortunately that the fighting to the North-East of Kourou, the location of the Spaceport, had grown more intense, leading the local forces there to fall back. Skirmishes had also been reported by Brazilian forces on their northern border, with known units that had gone renegade or deserted, and escaped to the North; into French Guiana. 
Scott grimaced under his mask - it looked like the fight was on, but at least the weather would give them breathing space, and a chance to formulate strategies. The thick, wild terrain of the territory would be on their side too - anywhere large enough for a group with vehicles and large numbers to camp out would be easy to spot - or at least, he hoped so.

All too soon after, the coastline hove into view, and along with it the blur of grey-white that marked Cayenne, where they'd be touching down.
The city - though it was far smaller than most places he knew as such - was bracketed by two wide-mouthed estauries, with the airport beyond. Kourou and its' space center were around 70km to the North-West, but there was no airport to handle and support the fighters in the vicinity. This was the best and nearest alternative, and still only a handful of minutes flying time for the fastest of their numbers. 
The tower cleared them in for approach, and Scott called over to the group.
"Let's practice an overhead recovery; with things going as they are, I don't want us overflying the jungle too often if we don't have to. And who knows - we might need combat recoveries before this is over. Taxi straight to the shelters as soon as your wheels touch ground too. I think we should get the aircraft under cover quick, those clouds don't look good".
Indeed, to the East and closing was a roiling mass of black cloud, the ground beneath it obscured in a messy haze. 
Peeling off overhead the runway, Scott banked around into a perfect combat landing, bringing the nose down gently with wings swept full forward. A FOLLOW ME truck at the end of the runway directed him to the military area of the airfield, where the pair of C-130's were still unloaded the last of their cargo. A hangar that had been blast-proofed with the addition of layers of sandbags and bull-dozed earth around the sides had been set aside for their aircraft, and Scott taxied to a halt outside - going in nose first would only mean the aircraft would have to be turned in case of an emergency. Instead, he shut the engines down and prepared to climb out, watching the others land and taxi up as he stood on his seat.
A strong gust of wind blew in from the direction of the cloud, buffeting his sweaty hair as he removed his helmet, and chasing loose leaves and dirt across the apron. 
"That does not look good at all," St. Helen said loudly from the rear cockpit, as she climbed out. "We'd better get the planes under cover, and quick!"
"Right!" he replied, climbing down. As soon as he did, crews rushed out and began to winch the ASF-14 into the hangar, turning it around as they did so. 
Scott set to with assisting the others in securing their planes, as the rain began to beat down. Wind howled around them as the rain lashed the apron, and he darted undercover of the hangar as his flight suit began to soak through.
"Holy crap," he muttered, looking out of the rapidly closing doors at the weather. "What a welcome..."
He looked back to the others. "All right then. So, we're here, and in one piece. The inventory on our gear reads that we ought to have munitions for a good number of sorties. As soon as I get in touch with local assets, we'll being organizing our first sorties as soon as the shitty weather clears. Right now, there's not much more to do. As soon as we get some crash-space assigned, we get some rest and get on familiarising ourselves with the local geography; work out the landmarks and easy reference points, and set out some lines of defence for the space port and its' approaches," He paused as the driving rain drumming on the hangar roof made him almost have to scream to be heard, letting it die down a moment and shaking his head with a raised eyebrow before continuing. 
"Anyway - good job everyone on the way over. For now, let's keep sharp and alert. The real job starts tomorrow. For now, let's get a look at our surroundings"
The door opened a little, and a pair of figures soaked through despite their waterproofs and carrying armfuls of more water-proof clothing laboured their way into the hangar. Pulling his hood down, a tall, slender black man approached them.
"Captain? These are for you, courtesy of the locals. I'm Chief Bowman, I'll be the head of your ground crew. Me and my folks will get your aircraft turned and ready. Give me the word as soon as you know what the sortie is, and I'll get your weapons uploaded too. I think there's vehicles outside ready to take you to where you'll be staying, too". He shook his head. "Indications are that the damn weather is gonna last all night. Looks like we'll have plenty of time to get your aircraft ready. See you bright and early, sir". He nodded to the assembled pilots as the rest of the crew swarmed in and got to work under his organization.
Scott handed out the jackets, and then it was time to brave the downpour.

The vehicles were a pair of minibuses that took them off of the airport, and down a road through scenic - aside from the torrential downpour - surroundings into the colonial architecture of Cayenne itself. Their temporary HQ and quarters was a hotel that had been deputized for the current crisis, which meant more comfortable surroundings, albeit a little more rustic and classical than the [i]Stormcloud[/i], if more spacious. 
"Take a load off, people," Scott ordered as they entered the hotel. "There's nothing we can do just yet, and we've been on the go since the attack early this morning with no pause," he trailed off as someone else entered the hotel. A tall white-skinned gentleman with a greying beard and hair in a smart suit. He nodded to all of them with a cool, evaluating glance, before offering his hand to Scott.
"[i]Bonjour,[/i] Captain Valentine. I am Hugo Depardieu, currently deputy to the prefect of French Guiana. As you can imagine, he is currently very busy organising emergency responses and trying to get aid from Paris. I wish we could welcome you more warmly, but as it is, we are quite overwhelmed. Much as you must be; my sympathies for what happened to your home base."
Scott shook the offered hand, interested in what the deputy to the area's political ruler and leader had to say to them, and what information he was about to receive. 
"Thank you, although early estimates are that it's not as bad as it looked. And it's nothing compared to a country being attacked and invaded. I'm glad we can come and assist. I didn't realise your government was the employer for our contract"
"It is an emergency; the [i]Armée de l'Air [/i] and the [i]Marine Nationale[/i] are unable to get here in time - the attacks are moving too quickly. Hiring a PMC like yourselves was the most rational option in the circumstances".
"Anything you can tell us will help to fight back. Do you have anyone who can give us more information?"
"Yes, Major Constantine of the Gendarmerie,"
He introduced another man, coffee-skinned and in a smart, if rumpled, uniform and a tired look on his face. He stood by as Depardieu finished talking.
"Major Constantine has been directing things after his superior was killed in a mortar attack. He has been very capable. I'm sure between you, you can co-ordinate a most effective defence and counter-attack. In the meantime, I must go and prepare other measures for the civilian population. If there is anything else you need or that I can tell you, then I will do so as soon as I can".
He excused himself, leaving Constantine to face them. He gave a tired smile, before directing them over to a map-board on the wall.
"Please, have a seat. Lord knows I need one myself. This situation has grown far more quickly than we expected."
He gestured to the board and showed the current positions of the enemy. As far as he explained it, the actions had started with what had been assumed to be straggling bands of revolutionaries, rogue military personnel and militias in the forests. However, when attacks on settlements had begun in earnest and military-level weaponry had been used against the Gendarmes and Soldiers sent in response, thigns had been taken more seriously. Coupled with violence in the neighbouring countries and further away, things had taken a worse turn almost literally overnight. When they had been attacked from the air and driven out of positions along the border, they had known the situation had tilted too far toward the enemy. 
"So far we have pinpointed a handful of locations in the jungle they seem to be using as marshalling and resupply points. They are along the rivers, and we have seen them defended by gun emplacements, as well as armed riverboats and infantry. They have - much to our sadness - also taken control of Awala on the border to the North-West, and are currently entrenched outside Sinnamary, to the North-West of Kourou and the Space Center. We belive that is currently their major objective. To the south of our current position, they have mostly been held up by the dense rainforest and the inhospitable terrain. There are no real roads through the interior, and no developed settlements of any kind. As such, there has been little activity. Most of the combat is focused on the Western regions, with encounters primarily in the built-up areas, and along some of the rivers. The aircraft under their control seem to mostly be lighter types, counter-insurgency aircraft and helicopters, along with whatever they could scavenge - although, some of my men to the north have been attacked by jet aircraft; they could not identify their origin".
"All right," acknowledged Scott with a grimace. "We can't move until the weather clears anyway. I think our first order of business will be a full reconnaissance in force of the area, and a show of force. If we know they're outside of Sinnamary, then that's our first point of attack, with an attack on their supply dumps as a second objective. We need to rally your people and push back the enemy, break their lines and exploit that break so we can give the space centre enough breathing room to launch the satellite safely. We'll work on co-ordinating with your people for close-air support. And we need to find out who those hostiles are too, if they're not locals". He shook his head with a grim smile in place.
"It's not going to be easy, and it's probably not going to be painless. But at least we're getting paid for it, and getting some of our own back while we do".