Remembrance part 2, Recollection
darthcourt10
Well worn.
- Joined
- Jun 12, 2018
- Messages
- 7,947
- Likes received
- 30,447
looneytunes91
A/N: Here is part 2 of Remembrance. I got back from a gun show today and I'm posting this at 0122 local time so please let me know if you find any errors in my work as I really want this to work.
Recollection
The day of the sortie we were going on day three of what I now know to be Blood Week but what we only knew as the abyssal's assault against humanity. My squadron had been sitting on either Ready Alert 5 or on CAPs for those three days. We had heard that Unalaska had been taken over by the abyssals yet us pilots also had a gut feeling that you didn't want to strike against humanity. Because every time a strike was vectored against Elmendorf AFB or Anchorage we could drive it off by making one gun pass against the bombers and they would without hesitation drop their payloads. This was contrary to other combatant commands who reported a certain zealousness in the abyssal bombers to cause as much death and destruction as possible.
One such report given on day 2 of Blood Week was of an abyssal dive bomber getting hit by a missile, dropping its bomb on a ship then slamming itself into another. We knew deep in our hearts that you were being forced to fight and we knew you were making as little effort as possible to fight us.
I guess that's why we were so surprised to have to fight so hard on that day to drive off the strike…
+-+-+
Elmendorf Air Force Base
Just North of Anchorage, Alaska
3rd day of Blood Week
Two F-15s sit at the end of the runway, safety pins removed from their weapons but engines off to save time in scrambling while not wasting fuel. The snow falling around the cockpit in a white swirling curtain, Captain Baldwin watches transfixed as the individual flakes falling seem to combine into a seemingly living mass that wraps his Eagle like a loving mother giving her child a hug.
His thoughts are thousands of miles away though as he thinks of his son who is currently deployed to Iraq mercifully far enough inland to not be affected too much right now. Although his supplies might be getting scarce if supply ships cant get through but for now he should be alright. His grandson and his son's wife are thankfully in Fort Campbell, Kentucky far from the now unfriendly oceans.
+-+-+
The sound of a horn honking from a nearby vehicle startles him from his thoughts. Looking over to the breadvan that holds the crew chiefs he sees the crew chief giving him the signal to scramble. Beginning the startup procedures the Eagle slowly wakes from its slumber, ready to begin its deadly trade. As the Eagle finally comes to life his radio comes to life with the sounds of the air traffic control tower directing planes like the spider at the center of a web.
"Elmendorf Ground, Rapier 3-2 and 3-4, requesting takeoff clearance Runway 24." Captain Baldwin calls out over the radio net in a practiced routine that has become all too common over his years of flying.
"Rapier 3-2 takeoff clearance granted! Takeoff as soon as you enter the runway! AWACS Darkstar will brief you as soon as you are in the air!" Taking his que he brings the Eagle's two Pratt & Whitney F-100 turbofan engines to full afterburner as soon as he enters the runway. As he is pushed into his seat from the force of inertia and how quickly he accelerates he watches the HUD and as he sees his speed rise above 250 knots he pulls hard back on the stick and screams into the heavens.
"Elmendorf Ground, Rapier 3-2 takeoff complete. Have a good day sir."
Signing off he quickly switches over to the radio frequency to contact the AWACS.
"Darkstar, Rapier 3-2 I was told you had a brief for us?"
"Rapier 3-2, Darkstar. Here is your brief. Regional Air Operations Command picked up faint radar contacts climbing from a position just south of Unalaska and turning Northeast before the contacts faded. This leads us to believe that the abyssals there have launched another strike against Anchorage or Elmendorf. You are reinforcing Slam 1-1 and 1-3 on CAP 400 miles Southwest of you."
"Copy that Darkstar. We're on our way."
Turning Southwest the F-15s began their trek towards the operational area and Captain Baldwin began the hard part of this job. Waiting.
*-*-*
Oklahoma
Let me tell you Miss Hoppou, knowing you are heading to a fight and having to wait is the worst thing I have ever experienced in my long life. When you wait all your doubts start trying to worm their way into your head. They dull your senses, mute everything but your worries and amplify your shortcomings.
Anyways where was I? ah yes...
Operational area
Approximately 400 miles Southwest of Anchorage, AK
"Rapier 3-2 to Slam 1-1 do you copy?" The words sliced through the air waves as Captain Baldwin called out to the second pair of aircraft in this AO.
"Scooter! We copy. You ready to go to work? I heard our princess has sent some more milk our way." The voice of Captain Baldwins squadronmate called back and a sigh of relief exploded from his gut. At the same time the reminder of his callsign brings a little bit of good natured ribbing between the two pilots and a little bit of regret at letting that story slip at a few too many beers at the bar during flight school.
When he was a kid he didn't crawl like most kids. Instead he would scoot on his butt and thus the nickname of Scooter was coined by his family. And now it was his callsign.... to be fair it could have been much worse. Even if it was embarrassing to him personally.
"I heard Bull! Either way let's not get complacent. We've lost too many friends because of that." And had they ever. From the reports coming in from around the Air Force commands around the world almost 15 percent of the Air Force's fighter pilots had been shot down on the opening day of this eldritch beatdown of humanity.
Of those shot down over 3/4 were able to eject and at least live but that was one ejection out of the allotted three in a pilots career. He had a sinking feeling that in the coming months the Air Force would need all the pilots it could get.
"Right how do we want to do this? Wall or Racetrack search patterns?" The two search patterns were the most widely used in this Theatre of Operations. The wall was just that: the four F-15s would line up side by side and would press into where they thought the enemy would be. Each F-15 would have their radar settings different from the next. That way each Eagle would cover as much sky as they could, hoping to pick up the enemy flights before the abyssals supernatural stealth allowed them to merge with the Eagles without warning.
The Racetrack search pattern gave the initiative to the abyssals but allowed the Eagles to loiter and wait for the abyssals to push into them. It also allowed for a greater chance at detecting the abyssals in that if the Eagle didn't pick up the enemy on the 1st leg then there was a decent chance of picking them up on the return leg. Oftentimes this would put the Eagles behind the enemy and allow them to report the exact position and speed to the massive fighter screen that was being drawn up just in case they got past.
"We'll go Racetrack. Let the abbys push into us. no need to go looking for trouble and missing them if they fly under us. Especially with this storm under us. I don't know if they can fly in it but I don't want to be the first pilot to let Anchorage get bombed. We'll keep in pairs and let the other pair know if they get contact."
"Roger that. See you when the we see you." With that the two pairs of F-15s split off to begin their search patterns.
*-*-*
Oklahoma
We learned early on that your daughter's planes were cold and exceedingly difficult to detect by radar. On top of that we had to deal with the weather of the Bering Sea that quite often was on your side instead of ours. We had multiple instances of the strikes you sent out getting past the CAP and having the relief pick the strike up entirely too close for comfort. And yet…. The moment a single missile or a single shell found its way into any part of the bomber formation they would drop their payloads and scatter like leaves in the wind.
Operational area
Approximately 400 miles Southwest of Anchorage, AK
'It's a good thing we have at least some radar capability,' Scooter thought as he scanned the skies head outside the cockpit, 'otherwise it would be 100% impossible to find anything in this soup.' With the two patrol routes set up the pilots were doing their best to find the enemy in their assigned tasks. When running the Racetrack patrol pattern in pairs one pilot would monitor the radar while the other was using his Mark 1 eyeball to find anything that the other likely missed.
Luckily they had only made that particular mistake once when another pair of Eagles had sortied on the 1st day and got jumped by the escorts of the bomber formation. The only warning those two pilots had was the whip-like cracks as the bullets snapped over their canopies. Needless to say those pilots never made that mistake again and they were wishing they wore their brown pants that day.
It was lucky that Scooter was looking outside his cockpit at that time because what the Eagle's AN/APG-63(V)1 radar was unable to see through the storm and supernatural stealth was the incoming strike. Unlike the past 2 days this was not just a few dive bombers with a number of fighters as escort. This was a full blown alpha strike. The entire air wing of a carrier focusing its unadulterated rage against a single target and damn whatever gets in its path.
*-*-*
Oklahoma
As I looked upon the mass of aircraft that had just emerged from the clouds like a murder of crows I was momentarily struck dumb. This was the largest collection of aircraft I had seen since the Red Flag that I had been to just a few years previous. However this wasn't a war game. This was life or death, a fight to the finish. If we didn't drive this strike off then a lot of people were gonna die. A carrier just doesn't send this amount of planes and drop their bombs in the ocean without facing stiffer resistance than Berlin in WWII or Hanoi in the Vietnam War or Baghdad in 1991. This is gonna be a fight for all the chips.
Post A/N: This was starting to get a little long for my tastes so I decided to cut it off here that way the next scene can recieve my full attention..... and I won't be dead tired while writing it. Have a good night everyone see you in the morning.
A/N: Here is part 2 of Remembrance. I got back from a gun show today and I'm posting this at 0122 local time so please let me know if you find any errors in my work as I really want this to work.
Recollection
The day of the sortie we were going on day three of what I now know to be Blood Week but what we only knew as the abyssal's assault against humanity. My squadron had been sitting on either Ready Alert 5 or on CAPs for those three days. We had heard that Unalaska had been taken over by the abyssals yet us pilots also had a gut feeling that you didn't want to strike against humanity. Because every time a strike was vectored against Elmendorf AFB or Anchorage we could drive it off by making one gun pass against the bombers and they would without hesitation drop their payloads. This was contrary to other combatant commands who reported a certain zealousness in the abyssal bombers to cause as much death and destruction as possible.
One such report given on day 2 of Blood Week was of an abyssal dive bomber getting hit by a missile, dropping its bomb on a ship then slamming itself into another. We knew deep in our hearts that you were being forced to fight and we knew you were making as little effort as possible to fight us.
I guess that's why we were so surprised to have to fight so hard on that day to drive off the strike…
+-+-+
Elmendorf Air Force Base
Just North of Anchorage, Alaska
3rd day of Blood Week
Two F-15s sit at the end of the runway, safety pins removed from their weapons but engines off to save time in scrambling while not wasting fuel. The snow falling around the cockpit in a white swirling curtain, Captain Baldwin watches transfixed as the individual flakes falling seem to combine into a seemingly living mass that wraps his Eagle like a loving mother giving her child a hug.
His thoughts are thousands of miles away though as he thinks of his son who is currently deployed to Iraq mercifully far enough inland to not be affected too much right now. Although his supplies might be getting scarce if supply ships cant get through but for now he should be alright. His grandson and his son's wife are thankfully in Fort Campbell, Kentucky far from the now unfriendly oceans.
+-+-+
The sound of a horn honking from a nearby vehicle startles him from his thoughts. Looking over to the breadvan that holds the crew chiefs he sees the crew chief giving him the signal to scramble. Beginning the startup procedures the Eagle slowly wakes from its slumber, ready to begin its deadly trade. As the Eagle finally comes to life his radio comes to life with the sounds of the air traffic control tower directing planes like the spider at the center of a web.
"Elmendorf Ground, Rapier 3-2 and 3-4, requesting takeoff clearance Runway 24." Captain Baldwin calls out over the radio net in a practiced routine that has become all too common over his years of flying.
"Rapier 3-2 takeoff clearance granted! Takeoff as soon as you enter the runway! AWACS Darkstar will brief you as soon as you are in the air!" Taking his que he brings the Eagle's two Pratt & Whitney F-100 turbofan engines to full afterburner as soon as he enters the runway. As he is pushed into his seat from the force of inertia and how quickly he accelerates he watches the HUD and as he sees his speed rise above 250 knots he pulls hard back on the stick and screams into the heavens.
"Elmendorf Ground, Rapier 3-2 takeoff complete. Have a good day sir."
Signing off he quickly switches over to the radio frequency to contact the AWACS.
"Darkstar, Rapier 3-2 I was told you had a brief for us?"
"Rapier 3-2, Darkstar. Here is your brief. Regional Air Operations Command picked up faint radar contacts climbing from a position just south of Unalaska and turning Northeast before the contacts faded. This leads us to believe that the abyssals there have launched another strike against Anchorage or Elmendorf. You are reinforcing Slam 1-1 and 1-3 on CAP 400 miles Southwest of you."
"Copy that Darkstar. We're on our way."
Turning Southwest the F-15s began their trek towards the operational area and Captain Baldwin began the hard part of this job. Waiting.
*-*-*
Oklahoma
Let me tell you Miss Hoppou, knowing you are heading to a fight and having to wait is the worst thing I have ever experienced in my long life. When you wait all your doubts start trying to worm their way into your head. They dull your senses, mute everything but your worries and amplify your shortcomings.
Anyways where was I? ah yes...
Operational area
Approximately 400 miles Southwest of Anchorage, AK
"Rapier 3-2 to Slam 1-1 do you copy?" The words sliced through the air waves as Captain Baldwin called out to the second pair of aircraft in this AO.
"Scooter! We copy. You ready to go to work? I heard our princess has sent some more milk our way." The voice of Captain Baldwins squadronmate called back and a sigh of relief exploded from his gut. At the same time the reminder of his callsign brings a little bit of good natured ribbing between the two pilots and a little bit of regret at letting that story slip at a few too many beers at the bar during flight school.
When he was a kid he didn't crawl like most kids. Instead he would scoot on his butt and thus the nickname of Scooter was coined by his family. And now it was his callsign.... to be fair it could have been much worse. Even if it was embarrassing to him personally.
"I heard Bull! Either way let's not get complacent. We've lost too many friends because of that." And had they ever. From the reports coming in from around the Air Force commands around the world almost 15 percent of the Air Force's fighter pilots had been shot down on the opening day of this eldritch beatdown of humanity.
Of those shot down over 3/4 were able to eject and at least live but that was one ejection out of the allotted three in a pilots career. He had a sinking feeling that in the coming months the Air Force would need all the pilots it could get.
"Right how do we want to do this? Wall or Racetrack search patterns?" The two search patterns were the most widely used in this Theatre of Operations. The wall was just that: the four F-15s would line up side by side and would press into where they thought the enemy would be. Each F-15 would have their radar settings different from the next. That way each Eagle would cover as much sky as they could, hoping to pick up the enemy flights before the abyssals supernatural stealth allowed them to merge with the Eagles without warning.
The Racetrack search pattern gave the initiative to the abyssals but allowed the Eagles to loiter and wait for the abyssals to push into them. It also allowed for a greater chance at detecting the abyssals in that if the Eagle didn't pick up the enemy on the 1st leg then there was a decent chance of picking them up on the return leg. Oftentimes this would put the Eagles behind the enemy and allow them to report the exact position and speed to the massive fighter screen that was being drawn up just in case they got past.
"We'll go Racetrack. Let the abbys push into us. no need to go looking for trouble and missing them if they fly under us. Especially with this storm under us. I don't know if they can fly in it but I don't want to be the first pilot to let Anchorage get bombed. We'll keep in pairs and let the other pair know if they get contact."
"Roger that. See you when the we see you." With that the two pairs of F-15s split off to begin their search patterns.
*-*-*
Oklahoma
We learned early on that your daughter's planes were cold and exceedingly difficult to detect by radar. On top of that we had to deal with the weather of the Bering Sea that quite often was on your side instead of ours. We had multiple instances of the strikes you sent out getting past the CAP and having the relief pick the strike up entirely too close for comfort. And yet…. The moment a single missile or a single shell found its way into any part of the bomber formation they would drop their payloads and scatter like leaves in the wind.
Operational area
Approximately 400 miles Southwest of Anchorage, AK
'It's a good thing we have at least some radar capability,' Scooter thought as he scanned the skies head outside the cockpit, 'otherwise it would be 100% impossible to find anything in this soup.' With the two patrol routes set up the pilots were doing their best to find the enemy in their assigned tasks. When running the Racetrack patrol pattern in pairs one pilot would monitor the radar while the other was using his Mark 1 eyeball to find anything that the other likely missed.
Luckily they had only made that particular mistake once when another pair of Eagles had sortied on the 1st day and got jumped by the escorts of the bomber formation. The only warning those two pilots had was the whip-like cracks as the bullets snapped over their canopies. Needless to say those pilots never made that mistake again and they were wishing they wore their brown pants that day.
It was lucky that Scooter was looking outside his cockpit at that time because what the Eagle's AN/APG-63(V)1 radar was unable to see through the storm and supernatural stealth was the incoming strike. Unlike the past 2 days this was not just a few dive bombers with a number of fighters as escort. This was a full blown alpha strike. The entire air wing of a carrier focusing its unadulterated rage against a single target and damn whatever gets in its path.
*-*-*
Oklahoma
As I looked upon the mass of aircraft that had just emerged from the clouds like a murder of crows I was momentarily struck dumb. This was the largest collection of aircraft I had seen since the Red Flag that I had been to just a few years previous. However this wasn't a war game. This was life or death, a fight to the finish. If we didn't drive this strike off then a lot of people were gonna die. A carrier just doesn't send this amount of planes and drop their bombs in the ocean without facing stiffer resistance than Berlin in WWII or Hanoi in the Vietnam War or Baghdad in 1991. This is gonna be a fight for all the chips.
Post A/N: This was starting to get a little long for my tastes so I decided to cut it off here that way the next scene can recieve my full attention..... and I won't be dead tired while writing it. Have a good night everyone see you in the morning.