Area 88: Angels of Blood and Fire
"J. Austin Wilde" <wildeman@flash.net>
Here's an Area 88 #FanFiction for your enjoyment. This is just a one-shot, but you never know when I'll write another one.
"Two bandits at nine o'clock high!" The radio crackled.
"They're right on you, Jean! Break hard left!"
The sounds of heavy desperate gasps echoed over the radio as Jean fought for breath in the middle of his nine-g turn.
"Ken! Warren! Can you get to them?" Jean cried, rolling out and hoping for an overshoot. His Mirage III's delta wing configuration could bleed off airspeed murderously in a climbing turn.
He never got the chance to hear the reply, as an Atoll missile fired from minimum range exploded through his fuselage. The shock of the explosion threw him against his seat straps and into unconsciousness. The rocket's motor, still burning the last of the solid propellant, ignited the Mirage's fuel an instant later.
Jean de Lyon, formerly of Toulouse France, fell from the sky trailing a fiery cloud of smoke. He never saw the ground as it rushed up at him. He never felt the flames crawl over his body as the jet fuel burned around him.
He also never saw Warren's F-4E Phantom II open up on his killer with its gatling gun. Brilliant red tracers flashed out in a gracefully arcing stream of smoke. Only six of the 20mm armor piercing incendiary rounds struck the MiG-21 out of the 24 round burst. Six was all it took.
The MiG-21's cockpit exploded in a shower of metal and plexiglass. For an instant, if you knew what to look for, you could see the flash of red through the debris. The MiG pilot never knew what hit him either.
As Ken and Warren's F-4s hit their burners and shot away, the MiG-21 crashed only a few hundred meters from the burning wreckage of Jean's Mirage. The other MiG had fled away on full afterburner. The two downed planes burned furiously for awhile, their twin columns of black smoke mingling into the clouds as their fallen pilots' ashes were scattered on the wind.
J. Austin Wilde and Fission Park Press proudly present:
AREA 88: Angels of Blood and Fire
The characters and situations of Area 88 are the creation of the great shojo artist turned air combat god Kaoru Shintani.
McCoy strolled leisurely along the flight line. There was money to be made today. Asran's civil war seemed to be at a low point as both sides reeled from the horrendous losses from the last rebel offensive. Without any sanctioned missions to fly, the pilots would get bored and want to do a little hunting on their own. McCoy would be there to sell them bombs, missiles, fuel, cannon ammo, whatever they wanted.
The shrill of Iron Arm Campbell's A-4M Skyhawk assailed the little Irishman's ears. Campbell was one of the first pilots to get bored when nothing was going on, next to the bald-headed Randy of course. The pilot's canopy was up, and the glint of sunlight off his steel hook caught in McCoy's eyes.
"Hey McCoy!" Campbell called. "Come on over!"
The A-4's engine wound down as McCoy approached.
One of the ground crew set the boarding ladder in place for him. He scrambled up the ladder, hating how high up the cockpit was for such a little plane. Campbell wiped away the sweat from his brow with his good hand. The steel hook that was his other hand rested along the sidewall.
"This had best be good, boyo, for making me climb all the way up here," McCoy admonished.
"Can you keep a secret?" Campbell asked. He had a young looking face that belied his years of combat.
A cash register sound rang in McCoy's ears.
"Of course I can!" He protested. "What do ye take me for?"
"Good. I found something out in the desert. I want to take it out."
McCoy poked his huge beak of a nose into Campbell's face. A large wart crowned the tip of it.
"What do ye be wantin' from me, boyo?"
"I need Rockeyes. As many as I can carry. Can you get them for me by dawn?"
McCoy nodded. "I might have a few hiding in the back o' me warehouse. Question is, what do ye be needin' 'em for?"
Campbell looked around to make sure no one was close enough to hear. The ground crew were busying themselves with safeing his two Sidewinder missiles and getting them off the pylons to the storage racks.
"I found a bunch of camouflage tarps west of point Charlie two," he began. "Plus a lot of petrol barrels. I think there's a battalion of mechanized infantry out there, maybe even tanks. I didn't see any SAMs, so that makes 'em sitting ducks."
"So why don't ye be telling Saki about this?"
"Come on McCoy!" Campbell protested. "If I did that there'd be a whole section of planes going out there. I'd have to split the prize money four ways. I can do it first thing in the morning all by myself. We're talking a hundred grand at least, maybe double that if there are tanks around."
McCoy nodded. He understood the spirit of free enterprise better than anybody.
"I can get ye the Rockeyes," he said. "But I hate to see ye go off and get killed. Ye're one o' my best customers."
"Thanks McCoy!" Campbell beamed.
"Don't thank me yet," McCoy grinned. "It'll cost ye fifty thousand for the bombs."
"Fifty thousand?"
"Aye! Ye think Rockeyes grow on trees? These I had to get from a NATO supply dump in Bahrain. Not so easy anymore now that the Gulf War's over. Ordnance doesn't move like it used to, and they keep better track of it."
Campbell nodded reluctantly. "Okay McCoy, it's a deal."
"Splendid!" McCoy cried. He penciled in Campbell's order on a little notebook he always kept handy. "I'll have them waiting in your revetment before daybreak."
McCoy jumped down off the ladder. He had a huge grin on his face.
"Poor bastard," he mumbled to himself. "If I'd sold them for thirty thousand I'd still be making a sweet profit. That must be quite a target for him not to haggle with me."
* * *
"How are things looking on your end?" Mick Simon called over the radio.
"Quiet," Shin Kazama replied. He scanned his radar display once more. He was glad his F-20 Tigershark had a good air-search radar. It had saved his life on more than one occasion.
The rebels for the most part were flying MiG-21s, with the occasional MiG-23 thrown into the mix. The 21s had an old radar with a short range and poor tracking abilities. His own radar had twice the range and could track multiple targets with ease. In aerial combat, the first person to spot his enemy was frequently the winner.
The only problem with having such a good radar was that you were tempted to use expensive radar guided missiles. American AIM-7 Sparrows and the French Super Matras were good missiles, but they were so expensive to use that they just weren't cost effective when weighed against the prize money to be had for shooting down a MiG-21. There was also the chance that you missed, and then it was just money down the drain.
Today Shin was carrying four older model Sidewinders. The good AIM-9Ls with the forward tracking aspects were in short supply. Saki wouldn't issue them unless they expected to be outnumbered at least two to one, and McCoy was charging almost as much for them as for a radar guided missile. Shin didn't even want to think about the price for a 9R or (dare he dream!) the 9X ASRAAM.
If he did find someone to fight today, he would have to close with them and work in behind them for a missile kill. He could do it, in fact he had been doing it for two years. It was always a risk, especially as the enemy had been surprising them recently by carrying a Russian made forward tracking heat seeking AA-11 missile.
The AA-11 wasn't the best missile in the world. It had a decent seeker head and a good motor, but it was easy to fool. The only problem in facing a jet armed with one was that the enemy could shoot at him as he closed to dogfight. While he was busy evading, the MiG would slip in behind for a guns shot or maybe a cheaper Atoll missile kill from close range.
No, the only option for him was to live. If the enemy was carrying AA-11s, he would make a break for Area 88. He had to survive. He would get home to Japan and his beloved Ryoko no matter what.
**Just ten more months,** he thought to himself. **Ten more months until my contract is up. Then I'm a free man again.**
His blood began to boil, as it had each time he thought about the betrayal that sent him here. How his best friend had gotten him drunk in Paris and had him sign a contract that thrust him into Asran's civil war to be a mercenary fighter pilot.
There were four ways out of Area 88. The first was to survive the three years of your contract. The second was to buy out your contract by earning three million dollars in prize money. It was possible, he had been close to that mark several times before disaster struck and he lost a plane. Buying a new one always set him back to square one.
The third option was to desert, another thing that had crossed his mind on several occasions. What had kept him was a sense of honor and devotion to his comrades. As much as he hated Area 88 and the damned civil war he was forced to fight, he had several dear friends among the pilots. To desert would be to abandon them.
The fourth option was even more unthinkable. Death. The fourth option was the most common way a pilot left Area 88. They traded their squeaky, uncomfortable beds back at the base for smoking holes in the ground somewhere in the desert. Jean de Lyon had been the most recent death, having found his smoking crater early this morning. Memorial services would be held tonight. Shin didn't expect a big turn out for it. Jean was a new guy, not alive long enough to make many friends in a group of men who kept to themselves because they were all marked for death. Some sooner than others.
Shin of course would be there. He was there for all of the funerals. Even if he didn't know them. Saki would say a few words, offer up a Muslim prayer, and that would be that. If the guy had any friends they might say a few words of their own. Supper would follow, and life went on at the base.
"Hey Shin, you spacing out again?" Mick called.
Shin looked up to his HUD.
"What's up?"
"I've got four bogies at three o'clock, about sixty miles out from me. You should be closer."
Shin turned his Tigershark to the right and set his radar to work. He was rewarded with four little points of light on his display. IFF couldn't distinguish them as friends, and no one else was supposed to be in this map sector. That meant only one thing.
"They're just in my range," Shin said. "I think they're MiG-21s. The return strength is low."
"I had no problem spotting them," Mick returned with a hint of sarcasm.
"You've got that monster of a radar on your Tomcat," Shin returned.
"Heh, too bad I can't afford any Phoenixes. They'd be dead by now."
"I can probably take two on by myself by the time you reach me."
Mick chuckled. "Think you can stay alive long enough for me to save you?"
"I'll manage," Shin replied. There was that flat emotionless tone in his voice that he affected whenever he was preparing himself for combat. Shin hated the killing, but there was no choice. He had to live, to do that he had to kill. What frightened him the most was that it didn't bother him the way it used to.
"Going ballistic," Mick announced. "I'll see you in a few."
"Roger," Shin replied, his hand already moving his throttle to the afterburner position. The Tigershark's powerful F404-100 turbofan engine screamed in response as Shin punched through 'the number' and into supersonic flight.
Mick Simon held his breath for a few seconds. As much as he loved to fight, there was always that pause where his heart raced and he thought about the life he had left behind in New York. The woman he had left behind.
He loved Tracy. He knew that in his heart. But he also knew that he loved flying and he loved fighting. His first kill of a Libyan MiG over the Gulf of Sidra had been better than his first time having sex. The Gulf War had been his dream come true: months of continuous combat flying. He knew that he loved combat more than he loved Tracy, and so he had exchanged his business suit for a flight suit once again.
He slid through the zones of afterburner by feel. The F-14A+ he was strapped to had five zones of afterburner, none of them marked on the throttle. Pilots just developed a feel for them. He was in the third zone now, pushing for speed while keeping an eye on the fuel gage. Not having a man in the back seat meant having to take up the rest of the workload.
The only thing he really needed a back seat for (besides an extra pair of eyes in the middle of a dogfight) was to use his powerful AWG-9 radar to guide AIM-54D Phoenix missiles. As the rebels didn't have any dedicated long range supersonic bombers, there was no reason to carry a Phoenix. Using one on a fighter would cost him more money for the missile than he would get in prize money for shooting it down.
Still, there were times like this when he wished he had one. For a guy who wanted so desperately to go home, Shin took some crazy risks. He would be outnumbered four to one for at least twenty seconds. An eternity in aerial combat. A Phoenix or two launched from long range could go a long way towards leveling the playing field.
Instead he would have to make do with Sparrows. If the targets were MiG-21s he would make about five thousand dollars profit apiece from them. He would make close to forty thousand if he used an older model Sidewinder, and close to a full hundred thousand for a guns kill. Area 88 had certainly honed his gunfighting skills.
"Don't be in such a hurry to die Shin," he said quietly to himself. His radar began to chirp in his ears as it searched for the first MiG of the day.
Shin locked up the first MiG with his radar just as they spotted him. The four fighter flight split into two element pairs. The first pair flew straight at him, the second cut wide to the left to come in behind as he closed.
The radar lock was just a distraction, as he carried no radar guided missiles today. Hopefully the enemy would get nervous and make a break for it. Or perhaps they would launch outside their effective missile envelopes and waste a few of those AA-11s Shin had the sinking suspicion they carried.
They were cool customers, whoever they were. It only reinforced the idea that they were packing AA-11s. Shin started looking around for a direction to run while keeping his nose on the lead fighter.
They were just little black specks in the blue sky before him when the chirp of enemy acquisition radar sounded in his ears. They were locking him up to shoot. It was moment of truth time.
He caught the flash of a missile launch from ten miles out. Two of them were flying right at him. His instincts screamed at him to make a break turn and go full out for the sea. Instead he shoved his throttle to the stops and continued straight at the missiles.
Two seconds later he was approaching Mach 1.6 and the missiles' sustainer motors were just kicking in. He had one chance now, it was too late to break. The fighters were MiG-21s, he could make out their small shapes against a cloud bank.
The missiles screamed past him a half second later. Their proximity fuses weren't very good at head on intercepts, and the missiles exploded behind him. The Tigershark was buffeted by the shock waves, but for the moment no fire lights winked on. He had survived.
There wasn't time to gloat. He pulled the nose home on the lead MiG and squeezed off a burst of twin 20mm cannon fire. The head on guns shot caught the MiG square on, blasting the cockpit and radome apart in a cloud of grey smoke and shrapnel. It pitched over into a spiraling death dive, aerodynamic forces ripping the plane apart as it fell.
The second MiG pitched up into a high speed yo-yo, its pilot desperate for a guns shot on Shin before he could get past him. Shin couldn't match the climb in his Tigershark; the plane's center of gravity was too far forward for a decent pitch rate. However it rolled wonderfully, and the sudden change of aspect confused the MiG pilot long enough for Shin to get clear.
It was a duel for position now. Shin had the advantage over the MiG as his plane was more maneuverable. All he had to do was get in behind the MiG and release a Sidewinder -then run like hell before the other two MiGs could lock him up. They were racing around to get in behind him from seven miles out.
One of his problems evaporated in an instant as one of Mick's Sparrows blew it apart. The other MiG tried too late to evade, and it caught Mick's second Sparrow through the wing. The maimed jet tumbled ground bound, cockpit canopy bursting free as the pilot tried to eject. Shin spared a look long enough to know that at that speed and attitude, the pilot was probably killed by the aerodynamic forces of ejecting.
"Two for me!" Mick crowed. His F-14 was barely visible in front of Shin. "Think you can take care of this last guy?"
Shin grunted a reply. He was in a scissors maneuver with the MiG at that moment. Considering Shin's plane was more maneuverable, it was likely that he would succeed in getting behind the MiG for a missile shot, but then Shin had more speed to bleed off. He decided to roll out and try another approach.
"You're letting him get away," Mick said tersely.
"Keep your radar on him," Shin grunted. "Give him something to worry about."
"He's not going to stick around after we splashed three of his buddies."
"He won't live long enough to run."
Shin pulled up into his own yo-yo. It was a little clumsy, and the MiG pilot did what the book said to do -dive and break turn to disengage. Shin was expecting this, hence his overt clumsiness. It was easier to guess what your opponent was going to do when you made up his mind for him.
Taking advantage of the Tigershark's superior roll rate, Shin pulled over into a snap roll and put his nose back on the MiG. His radar locked up the MiG, telling the seeker head on one of his pylon slung Sidewinders where to look. With the MiG on full burner trying to escape, it didn't take long for a lock.
As soon as Shin had a good tone he released his Sidewinder and broke left. He was too close to prosecute this one -he'd only end up catching debris in his engine if the missile hit. Mick cheered as the Sidewinder crawled up the MiG-21's tail pipe and exploded. It was a perfect hit, completely annihilating the jet.
"A beautiful if completely lucky shot," Mick announced.
"So long as they go down I don't care," Shin sighed. That last turn had him gasping for breath. MiG-21s were slippery little bastards, even when you hunted them with a Tigershark.
"I'm coming up on bingo fuel," Mick added. "Let's head for home."
Shin agreed. Hoover Kippenburg and scar faced James would be arriving soon in their Phantoms to take over this patrol sector. It wasn't likely that the anti-government forces would be sending up any more planes today.
"Well, looks like I made ten thousand dollars today," Mick said in his usual cheery post-battle voice. "Wish I'd been closer, I could have made some real money dogfighting. Oh well, there's always tomorrow."
**Oh yes,** Shin thought bitterly. **There is always tomorrow. Kill or be killed tomorrow. Ten more months of tomorrows....**
He looked down at his gloved hands. For a moment he could see them slicked with the blood of the two MiG pilots he'd just killed. He squinted away the tears and tore off his mask. Cold dry air he gulped greedily until the sight of the blood faded and was replaced by the clean grey and white gloves that covered his hands.
**How many more men do I have to kill before I can be with Ryoko again?**
* * *
Saki was waiting for them on the flight line as the Tigershark and Tomcat taxied in. The prince's long black hair flowed behind him in the hot desert wind. Shin's eyes were unconsciously drawn to the 'X' shaped scar on his forehead.
The two pilots climbed down from their planes and saluted Saki. There were no real ranks among the pilots, the only exception being Lt. Colonel Saki Vashutarl, who was the base commander. Saki returned their salutes in his usual crisp and formal manner.
"You downed four planes today I'm told," he said to them. "Excellent work, especially for a lull period."
"Any idea when business'll pick up?" Mick asked with a grin.
"With luck the last offensive will have drained the rebels' resources and will to fight." He affected a wistful look at the thought, which soon returned to his usual grim countenance. "But probably not."
Mick found himself brought down once again by Saki's dour mood.
"We can always hope," he said, immediately regretting saying it. He had no desire for the war to end, and Saki knew it.
"I'm tired," Shin announced, hoping to turn the conversation in another less painful direction. "Make sure I'm up for evening muster."
Mick slapped Shin on the shoulder. "Can do." He walked towards the base's recreation room. "I've got a date with the coke machine. See you later."
"See you tonight Mick," Shin replied. He started down the tunnel into the depths of the base. Most of Area 88's living quarters were underground. This was as much for comfort against the desert heat as it was protection from enemy bombs.
Mick found Greg sitting glumly on a JP-5 barrel outside the rec room. The bearded man was busy grumbling, as Greg often did when he was bored.
"What's the matter Greg?" Mick asked.
"Nothing's the matter, that's what's the matter."
"Oh?"
"Yeah," Greg grumbled. "Ever since I bought my A-10, the tanks have all gone into hiding. With the lull in the ground war there's no close ground support missions available. And it's not like I can go hunting after jets in my Warthog."
He kicked at a 30mm shell casing.
"Shoulda kept my Kfir," he said sadly.
"You could always rent a Skyhawk or something," Mick offered. "I think McCoy might even have an F-5E lying around if you want to go looking for jets so badly."
"McCoy would charge me so much for the jet rental I'd never make any money," Greg lamented.
"At least you'd have something to do," Mick noted.
Greg's eyes lit up. "I never thought of it that way! You know where he's hiding?"
"Haven't seen him since this morning."
Greg scratched at his beard. "Guess I'll start looking for him. Later."
Mick waved as the short stocky man stumped off down the flight line towards McCoy's warehouse.
Once inside the rec room, Mick let the cool air-conditioned air of the place wash over him. The clack of the two billiards tables was a familiar sound. Most of the base's pilots were here smoking, talking, playing cards, and generally passing the time until supper and the evening muster. There were no operations planned for this evening beyond the standard patrols, and the likelihood of an attack on the base was diminished by the recent arrival of an Improved HAWK anti-aircraft missile battery.
Belly-Flop Kirby waved to him as he slugged the coke machine. Sometimes, but not always, you could get a free coke if you hit the machine just right. Mick smiled as an ice cold coke dropped into the tray. Today was his lucky day. Belly-Flop said as much to him as Mick found a seat near one of the pool tables.
"How are you doing, Belly-Flop?"
The man grinned. "My Skyhawk's finally ready to go."
"How's the airframe holding up?" There was a good reason they called Kirby 'Belly-Flop.' He'd done more belly landings -and survived, than any other pilot at Area 88. His most recent belly landing was due to running out of fuel while circling above the airfield as ground crews pushed the burning wreckage of a guy named Mitchell off the runway.
"They say I'm good for maybe one more. I'm getting ready to buy an F.1 anyways."
"A Mirage F.1? I always thought you were an attack pilot."
Kirby grinned again. "Now that the rebels are getting those AA-11s, life's getting a little too exciting in the Skyhawk. I need something with a good radar and a little speed. McCoy got me a good price on a Mirage."
"As long as you're happy I guess," Mick said to him. He wondered if old Belly-Flop could read French. HUDs weren't terribly complicated, but between the HUD and the Multi-Function Display reading out in French, it could get a little confusing. That could be fatal.
"I'll be all right," Kirby said after a bit. "I was hoping Jean could help me out with the displays, but..." His voice trailed off.
Mick nodded. Nothing more needed to be said on that subject. He sucked down his coke and went back to his room.
* * *
Ceiling fans swirled lazily over the heads of the pilots and crew chiefs in the briefing room. The fans provided little in the way of comfort, all they really did was stir up the cigarette smoke that left a blue haze in the air. Supper was over and everyone was present for muster that was going to be there. Jean's death announcement had already been made earlier that day, and Roberts and Benson were out on patrol.
Saki went through the roll call. After that the pilots were released for the evening. Shin wanted to be alone for awhile, and Greg was no where to be found. Mick found himself playing cards in the rec room until midnight.
Area 88 settled into a long quiet night.
* * *
Around four in the morning, the air raid siren blared. Mick and the other pilots scurried from their rooms to the revetments across the tarmac to their planes. APUs were already fired up, and the rising shrill of engine noise began to drown out the air raid klaxon. Mick was still rubbing the sleep from his eyes.
"Oh man! It's too early for this crap!" Randy yelled over the din.
"I'm supposed to fight jets in the dark with my Warthog?!" Greg chimed in.
"You attack boys just stay clear, the fighter jocks will handle it," Warren cried.
"Up yours you wanker!" Jensen riposted.
Mick clambered into his cockpit and his plane captain strapped him in. His twin General Electric F110-400 engines screamed to life, and he felt their power coursing between his shoulder blades. A brace of four Sparrows and four Sidewinders were already loaded on his pylons. Because it was a scramble to protect the base, Mick wouldn't have to pay for the missiles or fuel. Every kill was pure profit -the best kind of incentive.
Shin's F-20 was already taxiing to the active runway. One of the advantages of the F-5 and its advanced brother the Tigershark was that they could go from engine start to ready for takeoff in just 60 seconds. A few F-5s were queuing up behind Shin even as Mick finished his rapid preflight.
"Area 88 Control to all intercept flights, be advised of friendly SAM sites to the north and west," the radio crackled.
Mick cursed. A 'friendly' SAM could get you just as dead as an enemy SAM. He hoped those pukes could tell the difference between the enemy and the good guys. In any event he vowed to give them a wide berth.
"Area 88 Control to all intercept flights, be advised of enemy raid count numbering sixteen from the west at 600 knots, altitude 1000 feet MSL, and distance twenty miles."
Mick cursed again. At that speed they would be on top of the base before he could even get airborne!
"Zero-Zero Section Leader Shin Kazama to all flights, take off!"
Mick watched as Shin's Tigershark and the F-5Es hit their burners and leaped into the air. In the distance he could see orange flashes of light and distant roars as HAWK missiles raced skyward to intercept. The brilliant green and red lines of tracer fire lit up the dark moonless sky even more.
Shin was racing airborne and letting Area 88's ground radar vector him to attack. There was no sense in alerting the enemy to his presence by lighting them up with his own radar just yet. The first of the HAWKs started into the sky far ahead of him. He watched as two explosions erupted like flashbulbs in the distance. The radar told him two bogies had just gone down.
The raiders were making abrupt turns now. He could see their after-burners winking on in the darkness as they turned away from the SAMs. Either they weren't prepared for the missile bases or...
One of his F-5s broke out ahead of him to pursue the fleeing jets.
"Sanchez!" Shin cried. "Come back!"
"It's easy pickins, man!" Sanchez returned. "They're lighting themselves up all the way to Tel Aviv!"
"Zero-Zero Section, break left and circle," Shin ordered. "Sanchez, get back here!"
There was no reply. Sanchez's F-5E was now twelve miles ahead of the section. Suddenly there was a flash of light about where his plane was last seen. Shin scanned his radar briefly and confirmed that the F-5 had been shot down.
Not all of the enemy jets had turned, just enough to suck Sanchez into attacking head on into AA-11 missiles from the rest. If he had been using his radar in range-while-search mode he would have realized that. The learning curve of Area 88 was steep, too steep in Sanchez's case.
"Area 88 Control to all intercept flights, be advised of second raid group of twelve aircraft from the south at Angels 15, speed 800 knots, range of thirty miles."
Shin cursed. The first raid group was only there to antagonize the SAM sites. A wave of missiles from the second group began to pound the desert around the base. Anti-Radiation Homing missiles. Probably Shrikes, maybe even HARMs.
"Okay section, let's light them up," Shin called to his planes. His F-20 and two Kfirs were the only planes capable of using radar guided missiles. They would have to tow the line until Mick with his F-14 and the F-4 Phantoms could get airborne. Of course by that time the range would be down to using heat-seekers anyway.
His radar acquired a target and locked it up. The buzzing tone sounded in his ears and he released a Sparrow. The enemy planes were making their escape turns, having launched all of their Anti-Radiation missiles at the HAWK batteries. Shin would have to keep the nose of his plane on his target until the missile hit or it shot past as a miss.
Seconds passed at an agonizing gait. He was essentially a sitting duck for anyone else with an air to air missile while he 'walked' his Sparrow into the target. He just hoped his F-5s were keeping a sharp eye out for anyone who tried to close with him.
A heat seeker flashed underneath him. He looked away from his radar for just an instant to see a MiG-21 explode about six miles away from his position. Another F-5 was launching a Sidewinder as more MiGs closed.
The chirp of an acquisition radar sounded in his ears. Again his instincts told him to break and evade. He ignored them for just another moment as his Sparrow found its mark. The distant deathlight went unnoticed as he made an afterburner dive, then cut the burners, dropped four flares, and rolled out into a break turn.
The Atoll shot past three hundred yards behind him. He jerked at the control column, pitching hard into another turn and feeling his backside crush into his ejector seat. The MiG was so hard to see in the darkness, he was nearly flying blind.
His finger caressed the trigger, sending a burst of cannon fire into the night. A MiG suddenly erupted in flames before him, and in a panic he dove for the deck. It was so close that he could see the pilot's body blasted halfway through the shredded cockpit as it tumbled out of control above him.
He pulled up with two hundred feet to spare and gunned his engine just below the afterburner setting. Down as low as he was made him an easy target, only the darkness protected him -providing that he avoid showing off a brilliant glow by using his afterburner.
Shin's breath came to him in gasps as he stood his Tigershark on its tail and climbed. He had just enough thrust without the afterburner for a moderate climb to altitude. If he had been able to launch his other Sparrow he would have been faster, and the temptation to simply drop it was great. He didn't because missiles like the Sparrow didn't come along every day. He might need it later.
Mick was airborne now and not a moment too soon. A few MiGs had slipped through in the confusion. MiG-27Es by the look of them. Mick hadn't had much of a chance to look, as he was busy trying to get his Tomcat off the ground before someone dropped a bomb on it.
He squeezed off a high-rate gatling cannon burst just as a MiG was coming in on a low angle bomb run straight down the runway. The roar of the M-61A six-barreled gatling cannon just beneath him and to his left side was a deafening report. The MiG-27 caught the burst full through the intakes, blasting the engine right out the back. It tumbled into the ground a thousand meters short of the runway and exploded into a fireball.
Mick's F-14 was flying over that fireball a second or two later. It was pandemonium in the black skies over Area 88.
"Bandits in your six, Jensen!" Hoover called.
"I see 'em! Lend a hand someone!"
There was pause.
"Christ that was close!" Jensen cried. "Thanks Benson!"
"You owe me money from tonight's card game, think I'd let you slip off the hook by dying?!" Benson shot back.
"More 27s closing at 800 knots from the south! Look sharp Whiskey Section!" Brick announced.
Mick looked over his shoulder to see the lights of a squadron of MiG-27s racing over the sandstone mountains to the south. An exploding A-4 Skyhawk lit the sky long enough for him to get a fix on them. He wished his Tomcat had the new APG-71 radar; he'd have a better look-down capability against the incoming planes that way. As it stood he had no RIO in the back seat to pick them out of the ground clutter.
Brick's Whiskey Section of F-4Es all had RIOs. Their AWG-10 radars weren't quite as sophisticated as Mick's AWG-9, but having backseaters meant they could use their Sparrows more effectively. The lead F-4s began launching missiles as Mick moved his weapon selector to a Sidewinder.
"Looks like I'm batting clean-up!" He called to Brick's section. "Gang way!!!"
"Go get 'em Mickie!" Brick cried.
As the volley of Sparrows hit home, Mick used the explosions to guide him in. His powerful radar was picking them out of the ground clutter now as he closed the range. The seeker head on his selected Sidewinder began to chirp in acquisition. He launched a moment later, selecting to guns as the missile shot clear.
He put on some right yaw, holding level flight long enough to hose gatling fire into a second MiG as the Sidewinder blasted the first one into smithereens. He goosed the throttles hard, moving into zone five long enough to pitch up trans-sonic into an Immelman before throttling back to military power and looping over at ten thousand feet to drop in behind and above the MiGs.
He got off another Sidewinder as the MiGs aborted their run. Brick's section was loosing heat-seekers at them from the flanks and now Mick was behind them. They poured on the speed and dove down right off the deck to evade the missiles. Most of them escaped to the east. Those that didn't burned brightly on the desert floor. Mick was sure his second Sidewinder had scored, but that wouldn't be confirmed until the film in his gun camera was processed after the battle.
Shin Kazama had a MiG-21 on his tail. He hadn't seen the little fighter until it was almost too late. The enemy pilot had misjudged the range in the darkness and fired his AA-2 Atoll missile too close. The warhead hadn't armed before it streaked past his diving Tigershark.
Despite his error, the MiG pilot was hanging on tenaciously to his tail. It was too dark for anyone to find him and lend a hand, and now the skies were so mixed up with friend and foe alike that even ground based radar was bogged down with GCI duties. He would either shake this guy himself or he would die.
Dying wasn't an option, he told himself. He thought of Ryoko as he punched his afterburner and rolled. The MiG had slowed down to get further behind him for another missile shot, and now Shin opened the distance wide. The warble of the enemy's acquisition radar told him that the MiG was lining him up for the kill shot.
He held still for just an instant, then loosed a bevy of flares and reversed his turn. The Atoll leaped off the MiG's wingroot pylon. Shin could feel it bearing down on his fighter as he gutted out the turn.
He had to keep his fighter perpendicular with the incoming missile to maximize the relative velocity and incur as many fusing problems as possible should his evasion attempts fail. At the same time he had to accelerate through the turn to try and get outside the scanning arc of the missile's seeker head. There was also the MiG who would likely be following behind him at a safe distance to shoot him again if the first missile missed.
**One thing at a time,** he thought desperately. G-forces were crushing him into his seat. The hiss of his flight suit squeezing against his body was strangely audible above strident alarm of the rear-warning radar unit.
As spots began to swim before his eyes he saw with relief that the missile had lost its lock and nose dived into the rocky ground below. Again he reversed his turn and pulled up hard. The MiG pilot fired his 23mm cannon at him in passing, and Shin felt his Tigershark shudder as several rounds blasted through.
He checked his engine status: no fire lights or malfunctions. He still had power. Whatever harm that had been done to his plane hadn't been immediately fatal. He was still in the fight. He gutted out a snap roll, feeling the sluggish response of the controls as he did so. A wing hit most likely. It was just enough to put his nose back on the MiG.
Two seconds later Shin loosed a Sidewinder at the MiG. The enemy pilot didn't try to evade, he probably didn't even know Shin had launched on him. Shin wasn't too surprised; the MiG-21's cockpit visibility was poor to begin with, and rear view was non-existent.
The MiG exploded in a blinding white fireball as the missile detonated deep within the engine. Shin found himself nodding with some satisfaction. Fiery remains streamed to the ground in long orange fingers.
Another man had died that he might live.
**Sorry my friend, it was you or me...** he thought to himself. The warm slick feeling of freshly drawn blood made his hands slip off the controls for a moment. Then he realized that it was just another phantasm. His subconscious was punishing him again for crimes his conscious mind rationalized away.
* * *
Mick Simon made an inspection of his fighter as the ground crew safed his remaining Sparrows. He never had the chance to use them in the fight. He shrugged it off, he'd have his chance soon enough.
Iron Arm Campbell was stomping around in frustration nearby. His mechanical lower leg made a clacking sound as he walked, which complemented the sound of his hook as it scraped against the walls. It seemed his revetment had received a lucky bomb hit, which in turn had detonated the Rockeyes he had meant to use later that morning. Now he was out fifty thousand dollars for the bombs with no way of recouping his losses.
"Cheer up Campbell; at least you weren't in the revetment when it went up," Mick observed.
Campbell sighed. "Why couldn't McCoy have brought them out a little later? Dawn would have been just fine."
"Did you get any planes in the fight?"
Campbell nodded slowly. "Nailed a 21 with a Sidewinder. Other then that my A-4 was just flying around in the dark trying to stay out of trouble."
"That's about fifty grand right there -since you didn't have to buy the missile. Doesn't that square you for the price of the bombs?"
"Well yeah, but I was hoping to make four times that *with* the bombs. I don't think McCoy has any Rockeyes left."
"C'est la vie," Mick said with a smirk. "You'll make it up some other time. More than we can say for the guys that died tonight."
Shin's F-20 taxied to the revetments as the last of the F-4s came in for a predawn landing. Ground crews were ready at his station to tend to the plane. He made a brief inspection of the jet before turning it over to his crew chief. There were three cannon holes through his left wing -one of which had severed a few control linkages. Redundancy links had taken over, but it explained his sluggish response.
The unicorn emblazoned on the tail glowed in the light of the sodium lamps of the revetments. He looked at it for awhile. The unicorn was Ryoko's favorite animal, even if it was just a fantasy creature. It reminded him of why he had to do the things he did. She was waiting for him. All he had to do was survive.
Saki approached him as he thought about home.
"It seems the rebels aren't as weak as we hoped after the last offensive. I have the feeling we'll be very busy over the next few weeks."
Shin nodded.
"We'll be ready," he said at last.
"Good. I'm counting on you and the other experienced pilots to bring the new guys together. What happened with Sanchez was a stupid waste."
"I can't help them if they don't want to be helped," Shin said defensively.
"I don't blame you for his death," Saki said evenly. "But I need you and the others to work together and prevent any more stupid blunders like that. The odds are stacked against us as it stands."
"The odds always seem to get worse, don't they?"
Saki had no answer for that.
The sun began to rise; the sky flared with yellows and oranges and reds. It was an unnatural morning sky, and many lines of black smoke rose into the still dark zenith. The wind was cold and tainted with gunsmoke, cordite, and jet fuel.
"We are angels of blood and fire," Shin observed. "Fallen angels, living and dying in the darkness. Only the kerosene flames of our funeral pyres light our way to hell."
High in the clouds, steel crumples like paper and flesh burns bright. This is Area 88, and the skies are filled with the Fallen Angels.
Author's notes
- Kaoru Shintani's manga epic takes place in the late 1970s. I have modernized it somewhat, having it take place just a few years after the Persian Gulf War.
- Like in the manga, the country of Asran is a mythical nation roughly fitting between Egypt and Libya, with a Mediterranean coast line. If the anime is any example of where Asran should be, the use of Carthaginian art and architecture in Act III helps solidify the notion that Asran is probably the northeastern portion of Libya, centered around the Libyan city of Benghazi.
- Some of you may have noticed that I doubled the price Shin must pay to buy out his contract. Fret not, because I also increased the prize money they get for battle. Ah inflation...
- If I tried to explain the tech stuff about all of the various aircraft, weapons, radars, and tactics, we'd be here all day. There are plenty of good books on the subject, and if you know any fighter/attack pilots, you can talk to them. If you really want to know about something I've mentioned, email me and I'll try to answer it as accurately as possible.
Free The Nukes!
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// ======= \\
|| J. Austin Wilde <wildeman@flash.net>-** // ||
|| Head Ranger: Fission Park Press-------** //======\ ||
|| Hired Gun: P-P-P-Chan Productions-----** // // // ||
|| Knight Bachelor of the Crimson Sword--**// //====/ ||
|| "Those who have fought to preserve----** // Fission ||
|| freedom find that it has a flavor----** // Park ||
|| the protected will never know."------** Press ||
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