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Moments before the raid begun, Captain Rose of the 450th was kicking back, sipping a cup of Antrean Earl Gray, reading the classifieds section of the military's newspaper, The Daily Republic. It was a day of simple protocol, flight checks, fuel checks, all easily done by talking to the aircraft maintenance personnel and copying what they said onto a status sheet. His day was, for the most part, smooth sailing from there. He set his cup down on the table he was reading at; however, the liquid within began to ripple as the cup began to shake. Something was up. Angel-1 was against low-flight training due to how easy it is to make a mistake and ruin the plane, or at the very least, the wing suspension.

That was beside the point, the cup was shaking because something was up, and Rose wanted to get to the bottom of it. He folded and set his paper down, stood, and went to the nearest window to peer in the direction of the tarmac. It was too late. It was a quick, strategic strike, but unidentified aircraft flying Vlhakian livery buzzed the airbase for onlookers in the base to witness. It was not just a simple buzz-by, it was a surgical attack. Plumes of flame and smoke burst into the sky from the initial aggressive, treatise-breaking assault. This was no time to panic, but it was exactly the time to kick the tires and light some fires.

Captain Rose ran from the chow hall to the armory to get his gear and go. Banging his hand against the keypad-locked locker that was his, he'd pop in his code, his sister's birthday, and grab his gear. Flight Vest. LOX pump. Comm Transmitter. Throat mic, and of course, his signature piece, his DAS-Tech helmet. Getting everything strapped on, fastened, and cleared, he'd open up a line to the 450th-Gravestone channel.

[img]https://i.imgur.com/d8gossi.png[/img][color=f7941d] Lancer:[/color] "Angel-3, Captain Rose, checking in. Guess peace treaties mean nothing these days. Heading to my F-14 for Sortie and Defense."

A fresh beep let the folks listening in know he was done with the message as he was rushing himself to his hangar to kick their responsiveness back into high gear. The second he got to the side of his beauty, he hit a hardpoint to kick down the ladder and pop open the cockpit, climbing in, he'd start flipping switches, retracting his ladder, his cockpit sliding into place, electronics buzzing, soon the engine would kick on into prefire, everything would be in place for his take-off, except for the fact there were enemies in close proximity, the most dangerous time to take off. Balls be damned, swift payback was better than a stipend for doing nothing. Taxiing onto the adjacent runway, popping onto ATC-CASTLE comms.

[img]https://i.imgur.com/1Y3SPpe.gif[/img][color=f7941d] Lancer:[/color] "Lancer taking to the skies. I better get a refund on my tea after this. A free smoke too. One for Jackson also."

Quick response was the best answer to show any aggressor that whatever they were doing wasn't going to be a steamroll of an operation. In fact, a quick response gives the defender a better chance to steamroll their opponent. Time to prove that.

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