Rhona W

Thunderbolt Black (Fighter Pilot Mercenaries)

June 25th, 2015 Thunder Town, Thunder Island The Bahamas 07:35am Scott leant one arm on the door of the Mustang as he guided it smoothly along the cliff-top road that ran around the back of the short range of hills that ran down the spine of the crescent-shaped island Thunderbolt Black called home. One of the two main roads on the island, this one was much smaller, and was almost a relief road for the main one connecting the expansive airbase at the southern end of the crescent that ran east-to-west, with the town and harbour at the north end. Most of the barracks and accomodation for the Mercenary Group, as well as for workers in the town and dependents were at that end of the island too. With a briefing scheduled for 10:00 hours, he'd decided to take a leisurely breakfast in town after his morning exercises, and the drive on down to the base. St. Helen, his co-pilot, was due to meet him before the briefing, where they'd meet the rest of the pilots for the squadron, who had all been notified of their assignment. In the meantime, however, he was enjoying the moments' peace. He was excited about his assignment to squadron leader for the 101st, the Black Knights squadron, and was looking forward to meeting the men and women he'd be working with. He'd had a chance to briefly look over their service jackets, and was impressed with the range of skills. But right now, he was just enjoying the warm, summer air and the wind through his short blond hair as he drove. Despite the music blaring through the sereo and the roar of the Mustangs' engine, he cocked his head and sat up as another sound reached his ears; the roar of aircraft engines. "Odd," he muttered to himself, checking the clock on the dashboard. "Not usually any flights this early in the day..." The sound was coming from the East; out to sea and away from the island. And it was getting loud quickly. The roar grew to a rumble, the sound of multiple aircraft. His radio hissed, popped and fuzzed with static, before dissolving into screaming white noise. Wincing, he quickly snapped the stero off, and then gaped in amazement and shock - he'd looked up at just the right moment and glimpsed black, blurry dots zipping overhead. Moments later, there was the rumbling thump of multiple explosions in the distance. He looked back to the road in alarm as the car swerved, before another explosion dazzled his eyes; a fenced off compound on the clifftop adjacent to the road containing one of the SAM sites guarding the island had been hit. "Shit!" he swore loudly, before getting the car under control and flooring the accelerator. As he drove onward, the skies overhead began to cloud with smoke and contrails. Aircraft roared overhead as he rounded the last turn toward the base, stamping on the brakes and screeching to a halt to show his ID. Air-rad sirens blared, and people were running everywhere; firefighters and base personnel fighting to bring blazes under control, while others dragged aircraft into or out of shelters. The guard checked him off, and he carefully drove into the base, stopping as he saw St. Helen frantically flag him down. "What the hell is going on?" he yelled as the redhead tumbled into the passenger seat. "Fuck knows!" she replied. "We're under attack, and ain't no one owned up to it yet, or knows why. Commands' ordered everyone inta th' air to fight back, or disperse. Radar's just picked up an inbound amphibious force too. Not a big one, but enough to make things miserable. We're tasked to intercept it, and its' air cover. Get t' the hangar!" "Right," he grunted back, guiding the car to the apron. Max, the squadron engineer waved the car into the hangar, where the Black Knights' planes were waiting. The ASF-14 was ready, fuelled and armed already, with the crew rapidly removing warning streamers and covers from the bombs and other ordnance under the wings. "I got it ready to fly as soon as I heard," yelled the burly, stocky middle-aged man. "We're working on the others too, they'll be up right away! Only ords I could get at this notice were a half-load of Vulcan ammo, snakeyes, rockets and a pair of Sidewinders, think you can make it work?" "I'll manage somehow!" he yelled back, climbing out of the car. "Look after this for me too!" He caught his helmet as it was thrown to him, and quickly dashed into the nearby office to pull on his G-suit and survival vest over the flight suit he already wore. It wouldn't be pretty, but it'd do in a pinch. St Helen was already in the plane when he got back, and the aircraft had been towed out of the hangar onto the apron. He mounted the ladder in record time, and went through the quick-start checklist and flipped switches. Thumbs-up were exchanged and the Intruders' turbofan engines came to life with a howl. "Tower, this is Knight One. We're rolling for takeoff now. We'll be in the air pronto" "Roger, Knight One. The rest of your squadron has been directed to link up with you ASAP. Be advised, bandits have flown one pass of the island and are looping around for a second pass. Other squadrons will engage. Surface hostiles are closing from the east; reading ten craft overall at closing range with slow-moving aircraft overhead. Advise you to expect fast-movers also". "Roger, tower". Scott rolled the ASF-14 to the end of the runway. Other aircraft ahead took off in pairs, or more. Ahead of his plane, a dirty grey KC-130 tanker lumbered into the air to escape the attacks with its' propellors roaring, followed by a pair of swing-winged MiG-23 fighters decked out in desert colours and markings for the 103rd squadron. Then it was his turn. Giving a thumbs up to St Helen in the mirror as their own display of good luck, he toed off the brakes, and pushed the throttle to power. The large, swing-winged advanced Tomcat chomped at the bit, before rolling forward. Gathering speed slowly, the jet came unglued, and he quickly pulled back the stick as the gear cleared three green and locked. He banked east as they reached altitude, buckling his mask into place, the familiar smell of stale rubber intruding into his senses and overriding the smell of warm plastic and stale must that pervaded all aircraft cockpits. "This is Heartbreak. Black Knight squadron, form up on my aircraft. Apologies we didn't get a chance to meet and greet on the ground first, but it looks like the day has other things planned for us. We've been directed to intercept an inbound surface force, closing on the island." In the rear seat, St Helen glanced up from her radar and readouts, her head swivelling to the left and right, above and craning over her shoulders to check around them. For now they were clear, with no bandits on their tail, despite the scrawling contrails across the skies. Scott had set the aircraft on the right bearing to the invading force, keeping them at medium height for best balance of fuel efficiency and speed. He could see wakes in the water up ahead, and St Helen fed him a steady stream of info as she worked the controls for the big AESA radar in the nose. "I make twelve surface targets closing. Looks to be approx six assault landing hovercraft, with the same number of amphibious APC's riding outboard. Air cover looks to be gunship helos, and expected fast-movers in the area too. The surface targets and helo's are the priority; I'm loaded for air-to-surface. Any of you loaded for air-to-air, keep 'em off our backs. Remember, watch your six on approach and climbout after releasing weapons - the triple-a is gonna be thick over that landing force". Nervous and tense, he took a deep breath from the mask, quickly giving a check to all points of the compass, and then a look into the mirror to St Helen. She looked back, her green eyes and a few freckles visible above her mask. He nodded and slid his visor down. Time to get serious.