Scott dismissed the others to crew rest as he burned the midnight oil in getting the squadrons' intelligence and information up to speed. By 11pm he had assembled charts, data and information with the help of the local militia forces on the location of the enemy, and of their allies. Safe frequencies and IFF's had been confirmed to prevent as much friendly fire as possible, and by then the Tomcat pilot was shattered. During the same time, he'd been informed that Kat was currently medically unable to fly, due to an ongoing issue that had flared up. Grimacing, he crossed the A-10 off of the roster of available aircraft, doing so reluctantly - the straight-winged ground attacker was one of the more potent aircraft for the mission profiles they'd be flying. The feline-featured pilot being unable to fly changed the way they'd have to engage.
All the same, by 11 he'd concocted a mission for the following morning. Dragging himself up the stairs, he wearily collapsed into the plush hotel bed, and dreamed of mission plans.
* * *
The next day dawned, and luck was evidently on the Black Knights' side. The skies had cleared completely, leaving only pastel-blue and bright, warming sun in their wake. Large puddles were everywhere, and the cities' people were hard at work clearing up the mess from the sudden storm, but for all intents, it looked like it was game time.
Scott had breakfast served in the restaurant that was currently serving as their briefing room, standing at the front of the room with a cup of tea in hand and an eager, stern expression on his face.
"All right, Black Knights. I hope you all slept well, and you're ready for our first sortie. The weather is on our side, and we have full details of the enemies' positions. I've had word from the airfield; nothing was damaged, and we're able to fly ASAP. Our planes are being prepped as we speak, and uploaded with ordnance right away.
"The downside currently, is that Kat is off the roster for now due to illness. So, we're flying one plane short. On the upside, we're taking the big stick to the bad guys."
He picked up a pool cue, using it as an impromptu pointer, tapping a map of the area taped to a wall - the makeshift office had no projectors or fancy screens. Everything was strictly 'analogue' technology, aside from a handful of laptops and tablet computers. Circling a town to the north-west, up the coast and past the space center, he continued.
"As per our previous intel, the hostiles are currently holding at Sinnamary, a large riverside town north-west of Kourou and the closest town north of the Spaceport. As such, that's why we have to hit them there, and drive them back. Current intel indicates that the hostiles have artillery north-west of the town along the road, and are shelling the friendlies holed up in the town, who are awaiting reinforcements. There's also word that a riverborne force of hostiles are en-route from inland, trying to outflank the defenders in the town".
Scott took a sip of his tea, and nodded to St. Helen, who began to pass out sheafs of paper info to the other pilots, before taking her seat again.
"There you've got the modes and codes for our communications, so we'll be able to talk to the ground forces. Now, our intel is that they hostiles only have minimal airpower at this time. As suggested yesterday, they have some helicopters, mostly lightly armed utility types, and a handful of turbo-prop counter-insurgency aircraft. Some of them can be armed with Sidewinders and machine-guns, so they could be a potential threat if we're not aware, but nothing that we shouldn't be able to avoid. And local forces say they've mostly been used for harassing convoys and positions. There are indiciations of a hostile mercenary group, but nothing we've been able to pin down; indications are that these aircraft are operating from dirt strips in the rainforest, resupplied by truck through logging roads. So, we have a few issues to deal with. That in mind, the mission profile is as follows." Scott raised his voice a little, and spoke more firmly, making sure everyone had a clear idea of what was coming up.
"The squadron will be split into two flights. Charnel, Stalin and Viking, you'll be Eagle Flight. You're going hunting for the enemy aircraft; since your planes are both primarily air-to-air fighters your job will be to pounce on any hostile bogeys that crop up during the ground attack by the other flight, and to intercept and identify any non-registered flights. If possible, track them back to their point of origin. Stalin - I want your Su-35 loaded with some air-to-ground ordnance, so you can attack if you have a target of opportunity. Otherwise, mark the location for follow-on attacks. You'll be watching the rest of our backs during the operation, and keeping us safe. Which brings me to Hawk flight - that'll be composed of myself, Short Round, and Spirit. We'll be tackling the air-to-mud mission. Our primary targets will be the artillery batteries located along the road to Sinnamary, and then our secondary objective will be the riverine forces. Following that, we move on to any other identified positions, ordnance and fuel permitting. Our main goal with this operation is to allow friendly forces to push up the road from Sinnamary and create a firm line of defence for the spaceport, and a buffer zone while reinforcements arrive. If we achieve this objective, we can go on the offensive and hit back at the enemies' supply dumps and rear areas, allowing us to push them back out of range of the spaceport when the launch is due, tomorrow evening".
Scott glanced down at his notes for further information, taking another sip of tea, and clearing his throat before continuing. One hand rubbed his bristly chin, and he gave a slight half-smile before speaking on.
"In terms of triple-A, we're looking at a small number of shoulder-fired missiles, a lot of small-arms fire, and a few out-dated optically guided rapid-fire guns on trucks. Nothing sophisticated, but keep your awareness high, and watch each others' backs."
He set the paperwork down, and looked around at the others, his face still confident and firm.
"All right. That's the mission. Now, we take off in forty-five minutes, and leave here in ten. Get your shit squared away, and let's move".
Almost exactly on time, Scott guided the ASF-14 smoothly along the taxiway, the canopy powering down as the jet rolled over the drying tarmac. Sliding his anti-glare visor down into position, he held the oxygen mask up to his face as he spoke.
"All right, ladies and gents. Visibility is good, weather is fine, and all systems look good. Let's show these punks that Thunderbolt Black is in town, and make the announcement a loud one. I'm eager to see what we can all do, and I'm sure our employers will be looking on with interest too. Let's go earn our beer tokens".
Turning onto the runway, Scott ran the power up to takeoff as St. Helen gave him a thumbs up from the back seat. The tower cleared them for takeoff, and the pilot buckled his mask into position, toeing off the brakes as the roaring thrust kicked him back into his seat, and the tomcat rocketed down the runway, smoothly climbing into the bright blue skies, gleaming in the sun as he turned into a holding pattern.
After the other aircraft joined into formation, he held the formation at low altitude, following terrain as they skirted along the coastline, the early-morning sun gleaming off of the sea. To their left-hand side, the capital slipped past, and Kourou and the space center only a few tens of miles after that, the launch pad a yawning empty space for the meantime. In the near distance, smoke curled up from the settlement crouched on one bank of a wide-mouthed, meandering river.
"All right, folks," Scott said, coming back on the air and cutting through the peaceful flight.
"Split up, and let's get busy. Charnel, Viking, Stalin: goood hunting, and keep our asses covered. The rest of you, follow me in. We'll take it in three waves."
St. Helen scanned frequencies from her back-seat position, and spoke up as the Major from the previous evening came on the comm-channel.
"Attention, Black Knights, this is Major Constantine. We are marking out positions with green smoke. Repeat, our positions are marked with
green smoke, and our forces have pulled back to within the city limits. Anything on the roads outside of Sinnamary can be considered hostile forces, over!"
"Copy that," said St. Helen, relaying the information to the rest of the flight. "All targets with green smoke are friendlies, anything outside the city to the North-west is a hostile and we can engage at will!".
Scott hauled the flight around in a banking circle over the town, a flick of his wings giving the indication to spread out into a staggered formation with better spacing. On the road, a few miles north of the town, were various dug-in positions, set up in garrisoned and seized homes or other facilities, or dug into natural features. Between and around were small groups of people and equipment, or mixed vehicles with people carrying guns and other equipment clinging to them.
"All right, let's start making money. Break up and choose targets. I'm going to hit those convoys before they reach the town and the major. The rest of you, get busy!"
As the three Black Knights tasked to ground attack got busy, the skies were not quiet either. A distant gleam of metal or glass on the horizon heralded movement, low to the trees and closing in from inland. In formation were four
Cessna Dragonflies, the wide, straight wings of the small jet aircraft bristling with rocket and minigun pods, ready to strafe and blast the Gendarmerie and militia lines. And as they closed in, there was the brief warble of a searching radar, which immediately went silent again...
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