[color=003471][b]Lance-Sergeant Watkins - Illinois - West Coast Brotherhood of Steel[/b][/color]

When it comes to aircraft, especially combat aircraft, a single maxim tends to be considered, the faster an aircraft, the better it is.

This is somewhat true. In the great and heady days before the great war, the bickering nation states of the world competed to build the fastest planes with which to outdo each other. Single seated rocket craft became a common sight, their vapour trails crisscrossing the upper atmosphere in near hypersonic speeds as control for the highest of altitudes was sought. When the atomic fire burned the world below, the last of these crafts fought each other, seeking a pointless domination of the skies in the final hours of their nation-states, even as those nation-states fell into non-existence.

In the age since the great war, few societies had the means to fly, fewer still had the means to use that control in a tangible way. The Enclave had been the first and most renowned society to wield this power to an unparalleled degree until their defeat in both the west and the east. Following their destruction, control of the air was opened up to the rest of the factions of North America. These societies ranged from the Boomers of New Vegas, the New Californian Republic, the shattered remnants of the East Coast brotherhood of steel, the Midwestern Brotherhood of Steel, and the West Coast Brotherhood of Steel.

For the last on the list, the projection of airpower was currently being exercised over the skies of Illinois. Flying in a tactical bombing formation, a chevron formed of three YB-35 strategic bombers, further enhanced by nine XB-42 tactical bombers and finally, twenty-one P-47 thunderbolts as escort fighters for the entire force. All of them were prop aircraft, all of them were, to be specific, former training aircraft of the United States. With the literal scrapyards worth of jet aircraft lying around within reach of the West Coast Brotherhood, it might have been a source of bewilderment that prop aircraft were favoured over jet aircraft. 

After all, jet aircraft were faster, more agile, and just more advanced. The simple reason, and end-of-the-matter fact in the chamber discussions during the construction of the air force, had been that of cost. Jet aircraft were expensive in terms of resources, prop aircraft were cheaper, easier to build and maintain, and cost-effective, in that it was felt that using jet aircraft against the local tribes was felt to be a little over the top. As such, with their fusion powered engines, the west coast brotherhoods bombing wing made its way to join the fight against the cult.

The prior mentioned force was, barring the vertibirds which were exclusively operated by the special operations section, the entirety of the manned air-force of the west coast brotherhood of steel. Their current mission was simple, find and locate the airport they’d been directed towards, that of the former General Wayne A. Downing Preoria International Airport, now rechristened “Preoria Airport”, and land at the damn place.

For Lance-Sergeant Watkins and his fellow pilot, Lance-Airman Stevens, this was a rather tedious and boring task, and the two had taken up a game of wing tap as they lazed along at the rear of the formation, out of sight of Lance-Commander Carter, who was at the front of the formation, currently on mute as he delivered a long-winded patriotic and hawkish speech on the inevitable ass-whupping they were going to give those “Two-bit upstart inbred theocratic mud-fucking savages” that they’d been sent to fight, known in short hand as “The Cult” by everyone else. It was as the Lance-Commander took a breath, likely to prepare for another outburst of xeno-phobia, that the radio crackled as a new speaker spoke over the radio.

“-me in, come in over. Whirlwind Leader this is Preoria, come in come in over.”

The dulcet tones of Lance-Commander Carter thundered over the radio.

“Preoria, this is Whirlwind Leader, we are on approach for an ETA of five minutes. Request status update of ground conditions for landing over.”

At this point, Watkins could practically hear the mental sighs and thanks of the rest of the wing at being finally able to land. Knight-Colonel Carter had been ordered to remain on the ground for the duration of the campaign in order to help coordinate with the midwestern brotherhood, and as such, the sooner they landed, the better. Directions and updates were given, and the wing dropped into landing formation, strategic bombers first, then the tactical bombers, and finally the escorts, each taking turns to circle the airport before coming landing. 

As he approached, Watkins let out a sigh of relief, lowered the wheels, and grinned as the place gently touched down. His eyes glanced over to his wing mate who was taxiing alongside him as they made their way to the hangars. At long last, they were in the east and going to war, letting out a comment over the radio, Watkins summed up their feelings in a single sentence.

“This is where the fun begins.”