The sky over Tripoli had completely fallen apart.

Missile trails carved across the clouds while radar contacts flooded every display in Ayvee’s cockpit. Friendly and hostile aircraft mixed in a chaotic blur above the city, contrails twisting between bursts of flares and distant explosions. The radio was nonstop noise now — warnings, target calls, overlapping chatter drowned occasionally by static.

Ayvee stayed just beneath the worst of it.

The Seahawk cut through the lower airspace at high speed, weaving between layers of smoke drifting up from the harbor district. Fires burned along parts of the coastline below, reflecting off the canopy in brief flashes of orange as she scanned through radar modes and targeting feeds.

Most of the squadron was tangled up in the air battle overhead.

She had other priorities.

A sharp radar warning pulsed through the cockpit. Tracking signal. Ground-based.

Ayvee narrowed her eyes slightly as the emitter appeared on her display near the waterfront, tucked somewhere between warehouses and dock infrastructure. A SAM site still active and trying to paint aircraft above the city.

“There you are,” she muttered.

The Seahawk dipped lower as she approached the target area, the aircraft hugging the terrain while her targeting system refined the lock. Above her, two fighters tore past through the clouds, one dumping flares as missile smoke curled after it across the night sky.

Ayvee ignored it.

Weapon systems shifted over with a quiet tone in her headset.

Target confirmed.

She steadied the aircraft for only a moment before releasing the payload.

The Seahawk shuddered lightly as guided bombs dropped cleanly from the internal bay. Ayvee rolled immediately into a hard banking turn, disappearing back toward the cover of the city while warning alarms briefly flared across her displays.

A few seconds later, the horizon behind her flashed bright orange.

The radar signal vanished.

“Stingray,” she said over comms calmly, “SAM site’s gone. Airspace should be a little less miserable now.”

@Rhona W

Valkyrie had tried her best to keep up with the enemy F-15, but the pilot was using its strength against her Gripen, but couldn’t afford him to get too much wiggle room and despite her efforts that is exactly what they were able to achieve. She was laser focused and knew this fighting would push her to her limits, she wasn’t alone in this fighter either thankfully. Her lock alarms then sounded and before she knew it, a missile was in the air and coming for her and within the NEZ too.

“Knulla” She said to herself, immediately she pulled of Gripen into a break turn and dive maneuver, she rolled the Gripen onto its back and then pulled a steep high-G dive forcing the missile into a high-G lead pursuit while releasing chaff in the process, in combination with her craft integrated EW system she hoped it would bleed out the energy of the missile and make it harder to re acquire its target. The high G’s putting strain on her while doing so.

After this she pulled her craft into a notch maneuver putting the missile 90 degrees to her own flight path to use the ground clutter to confuse its radar and ultimately lose its lock; she hoped the missile wouldn’t cause too much collateral damage. But in doing all this she had lost temporary sight of her target, as she quickly scanned around her surroundings. “Cobalt one, Cobalt six, you got eyes? Enemy F-15 has gone down low,over”

Scott’s Harrier sped in close, eating up the miles between them. The black F-15 blended in far too well against the blacked out city below, and even the collateral damage from the battle hadn’t wrought so much destruction that fires had spread everywhere. The Titan pilot was canny; going down low had also got them against the clutter of the ground, making it harder for even the AESA radar retrofitted to Scott’s AV-8B to pick out; intermittent returns kept coming back, especially with the enhanced stealthy features the twin-tailed jet sported. But it couldn’t last forever: if nothing else, the Silent Eagle was moving faster than anything around it, and that movement pulled it out from the background clutter.

“I’ve got him; eight o’clock off my nose, down in the weeds. I’ll try and herd him up to altitude, six. You pounce on him when he pokes his head up!” Scott only had a single sidewinder left; other than that it was down to cannon rounds if he wanted to go hunting. That in mind; letting fly with it wasn’t even necessary; it was the threat of being hit he was going for - Freyja could make the pounce and bag the kill, if all went well.

He selected the AIM-9X and the familiar warbling of his plane’s systems searching for a lock-on sounded in his ears as he edged the stubby Harrier lower and tighter into a turn, sliding in behind the F-15 as it leveled out briefly. Smoothly, he followed the silver-edged plane into a bank, reversing direction and the sound in his ears changed, the growl of a firm lock-on. Immediately, the Silent Eagle pitched up, pumping out flares. “Cobalt Six, Cobalt One - he’s coming up, get ready to pinch him!”

“Acknowledged!” Freyja replied as the F-15 formed its maneuver to avoid Heartbreaks missile, the enemy pilot was getting gruntled but knew his actions was buying time, buying time was their mission after all and holding up more of the team was proving its purpose, however in doing so was leaving the f-15 pilot in a situation of being outnumbered and no matter how good one was, eventually the numbers game would win. Seeing the enemy craft pitch up with it;s flare going at her two o’clock, Freyja immediately moved to intercept following the flight path of her target the only just managed to evade a missile, throttling up he barely had time to react as the Swedish pilot had lined him up for another shot.

Then another missile was flying his way, he gained enough altitude but he pulled off a Kvochur Bell maneuver to dodge the missile with the last of his flares. For a split second both pilots looked at each other as during the move she flew past him, when he completed the move he began heading back towards Heartbreaks Harrier. Freyja banked her craft and followed the F-15 back down towards her squad lead. He was making it difficult for her to get a stable lock, as she contemplated using her cannon but needed to use it at the right opportunity. “Cobalt Six, Cobalt one, he is a slippery one, he is coming back for you, over.” She needed to do something fast, hopefully with the enemy concentrating on Scott while giving her an opening, hopefully he will forgive her for using him as bait, she switched to cannons not bothering with a target lock to spook them.

As the Eagle swooped down toward him once more, Scott heeled over hard, contrails drawing from his wingtips in the cool night air of the desert. He was thankful for how nimble his Harrier was compared to the heavy, but powerful F-15. Between his plane and Freya’s being smaller and lighter, it was like hounds nipping at the heels of a buffalo, each taking turns to lure the bigger beast and wear it down. It was his turn to play the lure now; a task he didn’t relish, but his experience and skill seemed more-than fit for the task, and he played the part well, dancing the punchy little AV-8B enough to make things challenging for the heavy twin-engined jet on his tail, but not so much to throw him off completely.

“Roger, Six; I’m giving him enough of a show to keep him occupied; flashing him my ass to keep him interested. Knock him down while he’s getting a good look, over!” The silver-trimmed Silent Eagle closed in, and Scott could feel his skin crawling on the back of his neck as his radar warning receiver blared about the hostile lock on, the F-15 settling firmly on his tail, it’s pilot fixated on Heartbreak’s Harrier as it screamed over the rooftops of Tripoli.

Freyja smiled a little as she let out a little snort at her squad leaders comments, In honesty though, his ass shaking was working, but it would only work for so long and the Gripen was re-positioning itself to get in close and pepper the enemy with her cannon, the hope being that it would force the F-15 to break off and leave the combat zone. Time was off the essence however and the Swedish pilot turned towards her target.

Her finger resting on the trigger as she throttled up to close the gap quickly, By the time she was close enough and pulling said trigger to unleash whatever rounds remained in her cannon, the F-15 also was in the process of firing a missile, this made Freyja worry for that split second, Scott's movements to her relative meant that the underbelly of the enemy fighter was showing when she fired. Bullet’s were hitting their target, striking the bottom of the craft and the missile as it was launching, before she could process what was happening there was a sudden explosion as the missile went off.

The craft was going going in flames, Freyja had no idea id the pilot even had the chance to eject or not, so quickly it happened she held her breath as she flew through the flames from the tail end of the explosion, adjusting herself in her seat and taking a moment of silence to one process what the heck just happened and to make sure herself was in one piece and no panels were alerting, she broke radio silence. “Cobalt one, target is down… that was some serious twerking. Sir.” She joked as she flew up beside her squad leader.

The timing could not have been more perfect, and luck was clearly on their sides. The Titan pilot’s finger curled around the trigger on his joystick, in the same instant as Freyja opened fire. Scott heard the missile launch warning at that same instant and thumbed the controls for the Harrier’s exhaust nozzles and slapped the countermeasures button. Even as the sidewinder leapt off the Silent Eagle’s underwing pylon, the 27mm shells from the Gripen’s cannon smashed home. The explosive shells tore ragged chunks out of the thin-skinned jet, smashing flight controls, engines, and systems, before the red-hot shrapnel ignited the volatile fuel, lubricants and hydraulic fluid within the aircraft.

All of this happened in a matter of microseconds, the jet turning into a ragged fireball in the same instant the middle flew. Without the helmet-mounted sight to guide it, it mindlessly homed on the heat source in front of it; the pillars of hot exhaust from the harrier and the blaze of hot flares, the AIM-9X detonating harmlessly as Scott smoothly slid the Harrier back into formation with Freyja’s Gripen. “Roger, Cobalt Six,” he replied, waggling his wingtips as he came alongside her. “And glad you enjoyed the show. Your next drink is on me, for sure”.

The Aqua-tailed Titan being hounded by Amelia and Ximena had no chance. Between them, the two women had pushed and pulled the Silent Eagle and it's pilot into the corner. Ximena danced her Sea Raptor out of the way of the laser, a move that goaded the enemy pilot to chase the plucky sinomexican into another shot, only to have one of Jefe's pair of missiles as a return for their troubles. At the same instant, Calico let fly with a trio her her own.
Bracketed by both planes and with five air-to-air missiles bearing down on them, there was really no avoiding it. The Titan pilot was no quitter, and they pulled to try and gain altitude, heeling into-
Before they could even complete the maneuver, the first of the three R-73's detonated, the close proximity fuse showering the belly of the Silent Eagle with blazing shrapnel. The second plowed home moments later, and the third arrived at the same instant as Ximena's missiles. The F-15 was obliterated, the machine and pilot alike so thoroughly obliterated by the successive hammering of explosions that it was spread out square miles of the suburbs in a shower of fragments that looked like a brief, if heavy meteor shower.

With all the Titan's down or ejected and no further bandits in the air, the squadron had got themselves some breathing room - however brief it might be.
Stingray hitting the SAM site removed another obstacle, and finally the picture was clear, the AWACS voice coming over the squadron channel to confirm they were in the clear for the meantime as the Libyans were regrouping and rushing planes to the area.
"Cobalt One to all aircraft, move to the next target. Targets are the Tu-22 bombers and any other strike aircraft and their support facilities at Mitiga. We're looking to stop them from being able to target the NUN fleet with long-range anti-ship missiles. As soon as we deliver our payloads, we go low and head north at max speed to exfiltrate back to Malta, over"
Orders delivered, Scott nudged the Harrier back on course to the east, and the waypoint for Mitiga International Airport, their second target. The AWACS operator aboard the E-2D Hawkeye was already advising them of SAM and surface-to-air radar around the airport, but not nearly as dense as that around Tripoli. There was a significant amount of movement on the ground that the Hawkeyes' powerful APY-9 radar was picking up, showing that the Libyans were already expecting something.
"Anyone with ground ordnance left; target the bombers and then bug out. No hanging around, no dogfights - we go in and out clean and fast. Dump any remaining air-to-ground stuff on the target, and then out over the ocean toward home. We delay any longer, and they'll be all over us. We already gave 'em a bloody nose, now we make it stick, and get out in one piece, over"
As Scott's aircraft closed in, the airport was laid out below. Winking lights of AA fire flashed from emplaced guns and mobile vehicles, brief sights as he closed in at high speed.
Of more note were the sleek shapes of the Tu-22 Blinder bombers. They looked almost like sleek, predatory fish, or rocket-ships from a 1950's pulp-era serial, gleaming silver under the moonlight. Several were parked up on the apron, while others were slowly taxiing to the end of the runway, where one was holding, navigation lights blinking.
Not hesitating, Scott thumbed the weapons selector on his stick, bringing up the maverick missiles slung under the AV-8's wings. He slewed the laser on the Litening pod under the belly onto the TU-22 about to start rolling and locked on.
"Cobalt Lead, Rifle!"
He squeezed the trigger twice rapidly, and the air-to-ground missiles flashed away, guided in by the laser's point onto the shark-like bomber. The distance was so short, that the Mavericks hit home within seconds, and the thin-skinned aircraft stood no chance. The anti-tank missiles blasted into it like thunderbolts from Zeus himself. Loaded heavily with fuel and the payload of the massive Kh-22 anti-ship missile, the bomber exploded in a gigantic fireball, the shockwave causing even more damage, blowing out windows, tossing support vehicles, and incinerating unprotected bodies.
The AV-8B screamed over the airport at low altitude and high speed, before Scott executed a picture-perfect bank and a nose-up, reducing speed just enough to get a good laser fix on the main control tower. As soon as the point was set, he punched off the two GBU-16's, letting them sail toward the target, toggling the laser to stay on target as he rolled and smoothly banked away from the target, punching out chaff and flares as the jet insistently complained about the radars painting his jet.
The paveways lazily soared toward the concrete tower as he moved away. The twin laser-guided bombs blasted into the middle of the tower's concrete stem, raining chunks of concrete and steel from the blossoming explosion, as flame bloomed out from the windows at the top.
"Cobalt Lead; targets hit. Heading for the ocean. It's all yours, guys and gals, over".



Kat had kept her A-10 at high speed as they had transition from the area around Tripoli to Mitiga. With the speed of their combat jets and the short distance, even her comparatively slow plane moved fast enough to cover the distance in barely a few minutes. She dropped altitude and speed on the approach, heeding Scott's warnings and instructions. The big bombers gleamed under the moonlight, but she had other targets in mind. To one side, a little removed, sat the POL (petroleum, oil and lubricant) storage farm. She selected her APKWS pods and let the Litening pod under her port wing play across the tanks and maze of piping, before selecting volley fire and curling her gloved finger around the trigger. As the rockets flashed out in rapid succession, each pod alternately firing until they were empty, she fish-tailed the rudders of her plane gently, strafing the rockets in a wide pattern back-and-forth across the compound, and pulling up and banking as soon as the last rockets had left the launcher.
Almost immediately there was a rain of explosions, and then moments later a massive fireball mushroomed up from the storage area as the vaporised volatiles met the burning and superheated metal fragments, the shockwaves flattening structures and tossing nearby vehicles like cheap toys. To her satisfaction, at least one of the SAM radars went offline, and the AA fire faltered and dropped off.
Wheeling in her bank into a tight turn, She selected her remaining cluster bombs and punched them off with a call of 'pickle' as she passed over the vehicle park, the weapons wreaking a blaze of fiery destruction as the smart submunitions targeted the parked-up service and repair vehicles and equipment, as well as tearing through thin-skinned steel outbuildings.
Her plane shuddered and bucked as she came around, the sounds like heavy hammerblows against the A-10 as it skidded and slewed. Grimacing, she pressed her booted foot heavily on the rudder pedals, and the plane nosed back on course, and she carefully eased her stick in a few slow turns, checking the mirrors attached to her canopy rail - yep; there it was. One of the twin, rectangular vertical tails had the top edge raggedly chewed away. She gingerly eased the throttle back up, pressing her feet on the pedal to test... there was a noticeable shudder and a sluggish response, and the shuddering grew as she advanced the throttle closer to maximum speed, but it held.
"Cobalt 7, I've taken a hit from triple-A. Some damage to my rudders, but I've still got control of the aircraft. Should hold until we get back to base, over"

@Smike, @Letter Bee, @Finetales, @AvaP, @Damo021

Mykhailo Martinez

Scott 'Heartbreak' Valentine - Cobalt Leader

The Aqua-tailed Titan being hounded by Amelia and Ximena had no chance. Between them, the two women had pushed and pulled the Silent Eagle and it's pilot into the corner. Ximena danced her Sea Raptor out of the way of the laser, a move that goaded the enemy pilot to chase the plucky sinomexican into another shot, only to have one of Jefe's pair of missiles as a return for their troubles. At the same instant, Calico let fly with a trio her her own.
Bracketed by both planes and with five air-to-air missiles bearing down on them, there was really no avoiding it. The Titan pilot was no quitter, and they pulled to try and gain altitude, heeling into-
Before they could even complete the maneuver, the first of the three R-73's detonated, the close proximity fuse showering the belly of the Silent Eagle with blazing shrapnel. The second plowed home moments later, and the third arrived at the same instant as Ximena's missiles. The F-15 was obliterated, the machine and pilot alike so thoroughly obliterated by the successive hammering of explosions that it was spread out square miles of the suburbs in a shower of fragments that looked like a brief, if heavy meteor shower.

"чудовий (chudovyi)!," Mykhailo said the word for 'magnificent' in his mother's tounge. He could laugh out loud, but at the same time, the risk that innocent civilians might get hit by debris... Well, he hoped the Libyans actually put in alarm and evacuation measures and had bought their share of ambulances and fire trucks.
Point was, the brilliant rain of fiery lights were magnificent from the air, but they also marked a waste of human life; Mykhailo hated it when his actions had a human cost out of all proportion to victory. At least he was closer to Ace-hood, right?
"All our powers combined!" Mykhailo couldn't help but blurt out, before biting his tounge to avoid saying, Go Go Power Rangers!
He still had a mission; this was not a movie where the narrative was winding down and he can relax. But compared to the flipping laser that had taken out his stabilizer, black market SAMs were child's play to avoid even with his plane's ability to form fancy turns disabled. Laughing, Mykhailo shouted, "Rifle!" as he unloaded his last rocket pod at some hapless emplacements, watching them blow up into clouds of orange and dark grey.
After that, he did a sweep to see if there were still planes or a missile silo he can still strike, and upon finding that the runaway was untouched, he made a move to remedy that, shouting, "BAT!" before dropping his F-16's Guided Bomb.
The noise and the explosions were a mark of a job well-done; to be honest, Mykhailo knew that to enjoy the harm, the pain, he was doing to real people - enemies - to express that outside of some vaguely defined boundaries of agreement like a duel or lack of civilian populations, well... he didn't feel comfortable doing that now that he was actually inflicting damage to his foes, foes he regarded as proxies for the mobs that killed Artemio.
To be fair, Artemio saw you for you; he was your boyfriend because he was willing to tolerate a brat like you, an intrusive thought parked itself in his head. You've done nothing but annoy people and show enough skill that you've not been thrown out on your rear. And all for what? To childishly hurt your enemy or those loosely connected to them just like you've been hurt?
"Out of Ordnance!" Mykhailo said to drown his thoughts before circling to follow Scott, his hunger for battle sated for today.

He flew. He took as many minutes as possible to get to safety, and enjoy being in the sky again, a sky starting to bloom with the early rays of sunlight. The Pilot's next words were addressed to Scott, "So, Cobalt Lead, did I do great? No big blunders?"
It was a vulnerability he had not wanted to show; Mykhailo Martinez was many things, but showing vulnerability on such spontaneous terms was not something he wanted to show.
"The Lasers..." he started a new line of conversation, "It seems our foe decided better tech made them more than a match for us, but it didn't work? What firms are developing those and where can we find them? Is anyone else interested in trying to get them?"
More vulnerability. More spontaneity. He did not want to open up. Why was he opening up? Should he brace to be shut down (verbally) right now? Was he being annoying again?

@Damo021@Smike@Rhona W@Finetales@AvaP

Fuka Nakano

Mitiga was in the same city, scarcely five or six miles away from the shattered wreck of Tripoli International Airport. It took seconds for Peacenik to swing around and get in range, once again in the midst of searching radar and scrambling jets. She cycled through her weapons with the bored diligence of a store clerk running inventory, waiting for Wunderkind as well as Scott and his personal hound Kat to pick their targets. A Blinder, the control tower, some fuel storage, and then the runaway, all of which went up in overlapping starburst explosions, bathing the night sky in brilliant orange. She watched impassively, selecting her targets from what remained.

"Rifle out. she called, the last of her anti-radiation missiles streaking towards a SAM site to erase it from the face of the earth. " And pigs away."

Her final JDAM and SLAM-ER shot out for the Tupolevs, tearing one to pieces and blasting the wing off another. That was all of her air-to-ground expended; Fuka was now free to bail out. As she started the trip home she felt not satisfaction but unease, the sensation causing her jaw to clench under her oxygen mask.

She was definitely tired, and who could blame her? Two strike missions in the same day, both of which involved multiple dogfights, and preceded by a gunfight on foot and another sortie, shifting in and out of her flight suit more often than she had changed her socks. The stop and start got under her skin, made her feel like she was being jerked around. But that was an old annoyance, something she had gotten used to long ago.

"All our powers combined!"

Good God, shut the fuck up.

Fuka felt out of place. She wasn't even a week removed from entering mercenary life and was already second-guessing it. She didn't trust multiple members of the squadron for reasons of personality and stability; they were crazy, but not her kind of crazy. Too many loudmouths and blood drinkers, too many Section 8 candidates with chips on their shoulders and poor impulse control.

Again she remembered her mother's warnings, the older woman trying to curb her already burgeoning sociopathic tendencies in childhood but failing. Now Fuka was flying high in the pale pre-dawn, trying not to think about the length of her contract. It was her fault, of course, her fault and no one else's. She had been so desperate to separate herself from her family that she jumped from field to field without concern with whether or not she'd fit, like a college kid sampling majors.

She should have stayed in the Army, where things made sense. She had enjoyed being a Ranger and was damn good at it, good enough that she might have been able to join Delta. She belonged on the ground with quiet professionals, not in the sky with showboats. Similarly, Cobalt needed a second-in-command who fit their vibes, not a silent and sullen samurai who hung around like a stain on the wall until it was time to kill something.

"What firms are developing those and where can we find them? Is anyone else interested in trying to get them?"

"That's not for us to know at the moment. We're better off focusing on the practical nature of what we just faced; the who and why will be determined by the intel people. We all got very lucky-had they come in on our broadside, firing their lasers, some of us would be dead or captured. They don't need to wait for lock-on or to lead their shots, and we can't outrun light."

Ximena Huang

Ximena snickered meanly as the last of the Titans was condemned to Tartarus, just like their namesakes. La Catrina waggled her wings before cutting in front of Calico, lazily rolling onto her back while Jefe scanned the giant menu that was Mitiga International Airport.

"Hmmm, let's see here...ah, you'll do."

There was a communications building off to the side, festooned with antennas and coaxial cabling. It looked ad hoc to Ximena's well-trained eye, a series of field modifications thrown into an empty structure in preparation for some intensive operation. There were probably people in there, hunkering down while trying to relay requests for support.

A Soviet-made bomb smashed right through the roof before exploding, blowing out most of the walls and collapsing what remained in on itself.

"And something for you as well."

There was a shop hangar with the nose of what looked to be an Il-76 jutting from it, the venerable beast of a utility craft undergoing maintenance of some sort. Ximena cheerfully made the mechanic's jobs impossible with her last KAB-500, the guided bomb splintering the cockpit and cracking apart the fuselage.

"Blasting Russian planes with Russian weapons, funny life we live, ain't it, Calico?"

Funny indeed. Ximena was out of explosives but still had rounds rattling in her chaingun, and she was ill-tempered enough to use them. With the radar down and most if not all of the missile platforms destroyed, she was free to make a looping pass over the base, watching hawk-like for signs of life.

There.

A pair of trucks had split off for the exit gate, practically bumper to bumper in their haste to escape. It wasn't much, but no predator turned down a meal.

"Moving to strafe!"

The Beautiful Corpse screamed down from on high, proverbial talons outstretched and cannon winding up. In the split second it took her to line up a shot Ximena took in the battered state of the vehicles, saw the beds full of soldiers and aircrew. She saw terrified faces, uniforms stained with sweat, rifles slung over shoulders or clenched in hands-

Good enough, they were a legitimate target.

"Guns guns GUNS!" Jefe shrieked, cackling madly as she let loose with everything she had. In an instant, the trucks were nothing more than twisted piles of scrap, metal fused with flesh, while set alight and thrown all over the service road they had tried to escape by. Ximena showed mercy by making sure no one would be left to bleed out, using up the last of her high-explosive incendiaries on the thirty or so squirters.

Any counterattack the Libyans put together would just have to go on without them. Satisfied in the same way a bear would be after feasting on an elk carcass, Ximena threw her plane up and over into formation with the rest of the gang.

"I saw you tossing rockets during your dogfights." She hailed Mykhalio, blithely cutting into the conversation. "Don't do that, it's wasteful. If you're not going to spend them on something actually hittable, you might as well take more actual missiles instead, get good at using your main gun like I am."

The 'helpful' advice covered her racing mind, Ximena making a note to discuss the evening's events with her boss later. In fact-

She killed her helmet mic and fished for her tablet under her seat, awkwardly propping it between her knees and typing an email with one hand. The message would be waiting for Scott whenever he next checked his inbox.

RE:LASERS????
Should probably talk to you and Wiseman again. Seems like my past has come back to bite us all in the ass instead of just me this time
( •_•)
PS: that was fun we should be wingmen sometime (✌ﾟ∀ﾟ)☞

@Rhona W @Letter Bee @Finetales

Yuna Xu

"Fuckin' A, I think we got that one," Calico said to herself in both humor and relief as the enemy F-15 was annihilated by objectively too many missiles. As Jefe waggled her wings and made a show of herself in front of Yuna, the Singaporean chuckled and shook her head. "Too slow, Jefe," she called out. "You still owe me those drinks though."

With the skies clear, it only took moments before Scott's familiar voice cracked to life on Yuna's radio. Ground targets only, in and out. What was a girl in a Flanker to do?

Yuna eased her nose in the direction of Mitiga, behind the others. Everyone in front of her had something to ruin the day of their friends on the ground, while Yuna was stuck with her 7 remaining AAMs. She figured she'd at least accompany the others on their bombing run in case they got a nasty surprise, especially as they were on a tight schedule. She watched with satisfaction as Scott, Kat, Myk, Fuka, and Ximena lit up the base in front of her. It was nice to watch an attack run done properly.

As she approached the base, she surveyed the fine work her squadronmates had done. Tu-22s? Burning. ATC? Offline. SAMs? Dealt with. Comms? Gone. It was a symphony of flames and wreckage, but through the carnage Yuna spotted a target that had yet to receive Cobalt Haze's wrath. A large, unprotected ammo cache, surrounded with crews, supply vehicles, a couple fuel tanks, and other supplies. Even one bullet from the Sukhoi's autocannon would light it all up, but Yuna knew she was fresh out. She could call it a day......or...

"Blasting Russian planes with Russian weapons, funny life we live, ain't it, Calico?"

"Wouldn't have it any other way," Yuna replied.

R-73s still selected, she dropped her Sukhoi closer to the deck and carefully guided the aircraft in for a run. She nudged the crosshairs to the center of the rapidly-approaching ammo cache, and at just the right moment...

"Cobalt 8, Fox Two!"

The R-73 left its pylon and screamed unguided towards the cache, and Yuna wasted no time yanking the stick hard left, screaming over the apron as the missile connected with its target. The R-73's warhead detonated on contact, causing a chain reaction as every unit of ammunition ignited. The small initial explosion was followed by a much larger, violent affair that vaporized any person or object unlucky enough to be nearby. Anything a little farther away not bolted down was sent flying.

Satisfied with her handiwork and not willing to push her luck further, Yuna bugged out. Her 6 remaining missiles would get to fight another day, and Yuna was ready to be back on the ground with a drink in her hand.

@Smike