April 18, 2006
1133 Hours
Brumbay Field, Equestria
Cole and the remainder of the squadron returned to Brumbay Field following the Bloc’s attack on the American carrier forces. The hours since then had been anything but calm as reports trickled in offering vague descriptions as to what was happening on a greater scale. Though the full situation was not known, the scale of the attacks was clear and it seemed that raids and serious defeats were coming in from everywhere. Much of the squadron’s time was spent rearming and preparing for whatever was to come next.
Incredibly, by mid morning the following day, no attack had been made. Because of the vast range of targets and the scope of their mission, the air power of the three Bloc nations was spread out greatly. As such, the small auxiliary airfield, which they did not see as holding a major importance, was spared the devastating night raids that had befallen most other Allied air bases at this end of Equestria.
With that came a new importance as an unofficial safe haven as aircraft from various bases flocked to what they had heard was one of the only places still safe. It quickly became clear that, rather than take offensive or supporting actions, the 1st Tactical would have to focus on maintaining the safety of Brumbay. As the refugee pilots brought more and more stories of the destruction of their homes and units, any feelings of dissatisfaction or cowardice by the defensive standing silently drained away.
Beyond keeping track of the reports, Cole also had the hours pass by greeting and helping to organize the various pilots that had escaped to the field. The first to reach them were seven F-16s of the 77th Fighter Squadron, arriving shortly before dawn from their crippled airfield near Manehatten. These were followed shortly by a group of Strike Eagles from the 335th and 336th, and later by a flight of five Equestrian Gripens of the 8th Fighter Squadron. The most recent arrivals were the Hornets and Aardvarks of the Australian Wing, all under the leadership of the No. 75 Squadron commander after having flown northward most of the time in search of safety.
The situation at Brumbay Field was rapidly becoming too much to handle. The field was a small reserve base and was not meant to station large numbers of planes, especially not the amount that was being housed now. It had gotten so bad that there was no longer any free space in the few hangers and covers to keep the aircraft, and as such many were left parked outside and some were even put on flat areas of grass.
It was also too much work for the small Equestrian crew of the base, who were performing admirably but were totally overwhelmed regardless. Cole was also beginning to feel the effects of exhaustion creeping up on him. Though there had been no further sorties, he had not rested since the first battle and the adrenaline and drive that kept him awake since then was now crashing hard.
“Captain, we have some more planes landing now,” the Equestrian mechanic informed. “There's… a whole lot of them.”
“What unit are they from?”
“They uh… just said the Navy. Your Navy,” the pony answered. “The commanding officer said he wanted to meet you.”
“Alright, I’m going to go to wait by the door to the main hall. Tell him to meet me there so we’ll have somewhere quiet to talk.”
Cole headed off, observing the runway as he went. He watched as a number of F-14s landed on the base, followed shortly by the accompanying F-18s. It was a different sight to see Navy planes landing on runways, but there was no issue with it. There certainly did not seem to be a choice anymore. After reaching the door of the building, he took a seat on the side of the steps and began to contemplate everything that was happening as he waited.
It was incredible how everything had to stop for such an event to take place, and Cole imagined what would be happening if it had not broken out. Some of the men were planning on going out to celebrate the birthday of another pilot, Runner had been hoping to go see a movie, each man had his own plan for how to spend his time. All of that was not to be. Now nothing else mattered in life except for the war.
The brutal simplicity of war had made itself known to Cole and the pilots. The most tragic parts proved to be painfully simple. When an allied pilot went down, it was nothing as dramatic as a film would make it out to be, not usually anyways. There would be no last words or great screams over the radio; at most it would be a call of impact to their craft and if they could escape or not. There would often be nothing more than an air of static and a call by another pilot that one of their own had been lost. Unless they were looking at the aircraft at the time of destruction, the pilot's death would not even be witnessed. One second he would be there, and the next he was gone.
Even the aftermath of this robbed the pilots of any closure. Depending on the state of the body, any funeral that was held often turned out to be a closed casket, assuming there were enough remains to be identified properly. An aircraft falling to the ground, especially one shot down by a missile, did not leave much behind. Crashes were a sad commonality even in peacetime, and the Airmen had grown somewhat accustomed to this reality. However, the sheer scale of loss was beginning to make this a growing irritability. In the case of Bursa, who had been shot down over the water, there was little chance anything would be found, less his body be cradled by the Pacific to some shore to be discovered by an unlucky passerby.
The dreadful thoughts were stopped when he saw an unfamiliar face walking towards the greeting. A stout man in a flight suit, with a look of weariness, annoyance, and dread about him. As he came closer, Cole recognized some of the patches that identified him as a Navy pilot.
“Good Morning, Sir,” Cole saluted, powering through the usual rituals past his drowsiness. “Captain John Cole, Air Force. First Tactical.”
“Good morning,” the Tomcat pilot returned as he saluted. “Commander Oscar, VF-31, off the Carl Vinson.”
“I thought you were off the southern coast.”
“We were. My ship took a beating and we couldn't land; was in pretty bad shape last we saw her.”
“You flew all the way up here, Sir? Across the country?”
“Not directly, but yes,” Oscar replied. “After the initial enemy attacks we headed inland, landed at some Equestrian airfield. Thought we were good but instead we just got caught in another damn raid. Lost some more of our planes on the ground, along with a couple more pilots.”
“I'm sorry, Commander.”
“After that we refueled and spent most of the time jumping from one base to another in a northerly direction,” the Navy pilot continued. “Those we could land at were in bad shape, and we couldn't stay. Just kept repeating the process till we ended up here.”
“I can assure you you're safe here. We haven't had an attack yet, still totally intact.”
“Yet,” Oscar punctuated, taking a seat on the stairs. “Just a matter of time before one does come. Especially with all the activity.”
“We’re ready for it,” the Air Force Captain assured him. “We won't let them touch this base.”
“You sure? You look pretty out of it.”
“Just tired Sir. My men are good pilots.”
“I'm not doubting that, Captain.”
“We can take care of this place, Sir,” Cole stubbornly insisted.
“I trust you will, just make sure you're in good shape. Why are you so tired anyways? You stay up all night keeping up with the war?”
“Yeah, combat mission; me and a couple other flights from my squadron. We were out near the fleet when they were hit. Spent a lot of time helping fight them off. Haven't gotten any rest since before that.”
“You were out there with the fleet? No shit?” Oscar asked as his eyes widened. “How'd they come off? Do you know? What carriers are left?”
“Not entirely Sir, no. We were helping the Enterprise ourselves. I know the fleet took a lot of damage overall but I think she's still okay. Was retreating to Baltimare last I heard.”
“Enterprise huh?” the Navy officer mused.
“Yeah. Only carrier I know of in the area. The Equestrians sortied theirs out when they heard the war was on, but they turned around real quick when they realized just how bad the situation was. Said they were pulling back all the way to the east coast.”
“I should thank you, Captain. You helped get her out of danger.”
“Thanks, just our job though. Right thing to do, you'd do the same for us.”
“I would, but that doesn't mean I shouldn't thank you. Besides, it sounds like you saved my new home.”
“Planning on moving to her?”
“Like you said, she's the only flattop active in the country, as far as I know,” the Commander explained. “I appreciate you guys making space for us here, but I'm still a sailor. I need to fly off a ship.”
“I understand.”
“Really? First time I’ve heard that from an Air Force pilot about my carriers. Maybe-”
The two were interrupted as the door to the hall was swung open by Delta Flight’s leader, Lieutenant Wilkes, who exited with a clear sense of urgency.
“Captain, sorry to interrupt but we’ve got a problem. It’s urgent.”
“Something important?” Oscar guessed, standing up from his seat. “I'll let you take care of any business you have, Captain Cole. I've got my own things to do. Thanks for the info too, by the way.”
“No problem Commander.”
Oscar took his leave, moving past Wilkes and into the building as the younger Lieutenant shuffled awkwardly past to speak with Cole.
“What is it Dart?”
“We may have incoming Captain,” he said. “Got reports of a small bomber formation crossing the border and their course may lead them here.”
“Alright, I'll start getting my bird ready,” Cole groaned. “Get your guys ready. We’ll go up and stop them.”
“I… actually Sir, I think my flight can take care of it. I think you need some rest.”
“I'm fine I'm fine. Can't just leave you guys to go out on your own.”
“When's the last time you even ate anything?”
“Can't eat, the anxiety ties my stomach up. I'm not hungry anyways so there's no point in trying.”
“Captain you need to get some sleep,” Dart persisted. “A tired pilot isn't a good pilot.”
“I can sleep later… don’t need to be sleeping when people are dying.”
“We can take care of this Captain Cole,” the Lieutenant continued. “And you may not get time later to rest. This is the only quiet time we may get, you should use it to rest. You need to be in good shape for when the important fighting starts up again.”
“Fine… fair enough. But you take care of yourself up there. And your flight, too.”
“I will Captain.”
“This is AWACS Spyglass to Eagle Four, do you read?”
“Eagle Four-One, we read you Spyglass. Do you have a tally on the formation, over?”
“We’re tracking them along the coast. Looks like a small formation of six bombers four fighters on approach to Brumbay Field. Are you closing with them?”
“Affirmative, we’re coming up from behind just as planned.”
“Understood. Bomber’s range to Brumbay is twelve miles and closing steadily. You are clear to engage.”
“WILCO Spyglass, Eagle Four out,” Dart answered. “Torch you take Fez and Steel and keep the fighters busy. Cook and I will deal with the bombers. Don't scatter, keep eyes on each-other. Ready? Engage.”
The five American fighters closed quickly on the rear of the formation, going largely unnoticed until Dart began to track them with his radar. His first AMRAAM went out at the same time Torch’s did, and seconds later a Griffon bomber and fighter exploded simultaneously. The remainder of the formation was now alerted, and the surviving escorts peeled away, but there was little more that could be done.
The second half of the flight quickly found how inadequate the Griffon escort was. Their fighters were MiG-21 Fishbeds, small and light but standing no real chance against the more modern F-15s. Over the next eight minutes the three survivors were plucked from the sky with ease, one by each of the three human pilots.
The main formation was falling with a similar kind of deadly simplicity. The attacking Bears, though increasing their speed, remained in formation. There was little that could be done against their unexpected interceptors, and Dart had soon killed another three one-by-one. Now out of radar missiles, he sent Cook forward to claim the final two kills.
“This is really it huh? From the stories I was hearing I thought this would be way worse,” Cook noted.
“It's very poor. They must not have been expecting any resistance. The field must have always been a secondary target-hang on,” Dart stopped, getting a report from the AWACS. “Targets are bombing the city… the port of Brumbay? Why? There's nothing there for them to hit. That place doesn't have any military targets.”
“They know they're not going to get to the main target now. They want to do some damage to something before they die,” Cook clarified. “Not for much longer though. I'm locking them up now… Fox Three.”
The final two missiles flew across the open sky, sending the Bears crashing towards the ground before they could strike the crowded airfield.
“Spyglass this is Eagle Four-One. All targets are eliminated, over.”
“Copy Four-One, Brumbay has visual on the downed bombers and we see no more bogies heading our way. You're clear to RTB. We’ll get some people out to start hunting for any of them that bailed out and to check on the wreckage.”
“Understood Spyglass, we’re RTB, out.”
“How'd she go down?” Keith asked
“After the beating she took during the attack they could only get so far away before the engines stopped,” Bailey replied, referring to the Carl Vinson. “Most of the battlegroup was ordered to carry on, a couple stayed behind to watch over her with a skeleton crew onboard to try and carry out repairs. After the attacks subsided things were looking stable, they were hoping she could be towed somewhere safe, maybe by the battleship if she could get there. But a sub got to her first, Changeling probably.”
“And they didn't see it, huh?”
“Guess not. Maybe escorts were watching the sky. Either way she took a full salvo of torpedoes on her starboard side and that was it. Whatever crew that was still onboard was picked up and the carrier capsized. That was it, Captain.”
As the Audie Murphy sailed slowly onwards, Keith eyed the multitude of vessels now crowding into the supposed safety of Pearl Harbor. Much of the loch had been turned into an overcrowded, watery parking lot. Those vessels with the most serious damage were given the dry-dock space, reserved for those that needed it. The ships sporting damage to the deck or superstructure would have to be repaired in place, and those that had no damage waited outside the harbor, ‘guarding’ the entrance to the loch.
Keith attempted to pick out the individual ships to see which had survived. The carriers George Washington and Abraham Lincoln were still afloat, albeit damaged and out of action, as was the battleship Washington that had been with them. Various additional cruisers, destroyers, and frigates were themselves tied up or dry docked as they underwent repairs. Pearl Harbor was overflowing with ships, and those vessels that were not damaged and were armed had to be stationed outside the harbor, both to make room and to guard against any enemy attack. Still, it was a tight fit, with many boats tied up alongside each-other in long rows.
The oddest standout he saw was the guided-missile battlecruiser U.S.S. Puerto Rico, once again receiving some form of work. The bizarre ship’s genesis had been in the years before the war, when it became apparent the Navy did not have the funds to expand on every level they wished for. Still wanting some capital ships with heavy firepower, the battlecruisers with their reduced armor and armament were seen as cheap alternatives. Once the alliance with Equestria was formed and improved techniques of shipbuilding were acquired, they were put to the sidelines, expected to be scrapped in the coming years. Now he saw the ship and her sister, the Guam, having their secondary weapons set in place. The painful start on the war now saw the abandoned projects pulled out definitively for whatever roles they could serve.
The Audie Murphy was given one of the few free spots in order to have her weapons systems replenished and her fuel refilled. That would be all the free time the destroyer would get, for as soon as this was complete she would have to go out on another mission while another ship took the spot. As such, the crew would have to enjoy the short break of downtime aboard, mainly focusing on ensuring the ship was in good shape to head back out.
With everything in order, Keith continued to think about what had happened. Though he knew the ship and crew had performed admirably, the Carl Vinson had still been sunk. That, to him, was another failure and another strike against his own ability. He could not think of any other logical directions he could have given that would have made a major difference, but it did little to change his depressed mood.
His ship was moored across from the battleship Washington, which was undergoing repairs to her upper decks, her flags and banners stilled fluttering in the sharp Hawaiian breeze. Wanting to get a first-hand account of the experience of the other groups, he decided to make a quick visit. Upon boarding the massive vessel, he was greeted by a sailor who directed him to the nearest officer, who then directed the same sailor to escort him to the bridge. As they entered, Keith found the ship’s Captain already in the middle of a discussion with an Admiral.
“Sir, I have Captain Keith of the Audie Murphy here to see you,” the seaman announced, breaking up the conversation.
“Hello Captain, I wasn’t expecting a meeting,” the battleship’s commander greeted him. “I’m Captain O’Toole. Is there anything I can help you with?”
“No-I mean… I’m sorry for interrupting. I wanted to talk about your experience last night, how everything went. I didn’t know you were talking with an Admiral.”
“No harm done, I was actually going over that with him,” O’Toole said as the Admiral walked up to shake Keith’s hand. “This is Rear Admiral Jay Allen. He commands the America and her carrier group.”
“It’s nice to meet you, Captain Keith,” Jay spoke up. “So you were at the battle too?”
“Yes Sir, and I must say you’re doing some admirable work on those ships,” Keith complimented. “I passed through Pearl a couple of times before and they looked incredible for their age.”
“Thank you, Keith. It’s hard keeping them in good shape but I make due,” Allen replied. “Though they are getting a lot more needed attention now that the Navy needs them again.”
Keith felt some bitterness in Jay’s tone towards the end, but resolved to move on.
“That’s good to hear. I’m sure with a few more overhauls and add-ons they could go toe-to-toe with any ship out there.”
“They’re certainly acting like it. We’re getting some fancy new pieces we’ve needed for ages, but the Navy’s still got no problem dragging out old ships while they build new ones,” the Admiral went on. “You can look at the Guam as another example. It's a ridiculous thing but God knows they’ll find some use for it. I’ll tell you this, too. I even heard they’re dragging what’s left of the nuke cruisers out here.”
“I didn’t know they were still around.”
“They were going through recycling around 2000, then the Navy panicked and stopped them, threw them in reserve in case we had to go to war with our new alien neighbors. Didn’t think they’d actually need them again,” Allen droned on. “And now they need them again. Now some poor guys have to take an old cruiser with a nuclear reactor that hasn’t been touched for years beyond the basics and sail it to war.”
The more the Admiral went on, the more Keith felt like coming was a poor idea. Though he could not have predicted it, the conservative felt more like Jay ranting on over a variety of issues, with the destroyer Captain being the unwilling recipient of his frustration. It was hardly what he had been hoping for.
“I can't say I'd like that job,” Keith answered, looking over to O’Toole. “You mind if I ask how you all came out from the battle?”
“Well it's not as bad as it seems. We took a missile hit to the side but it didn't destroy anything vital. Just looks a little rough from the outside but every system is running fine. All we need is to get the outer parts patched up and we'll be good to go.”
“That's some good news, I know a lot of other ships weren't that lucky. We had to pick up some survivors from the Roosevelt and God, the whole top deck was one big wreck. Those bombs are are damn dangerous.”
“Yeah, we weren't expecting them to use bombs when they closed in like they did. The Klakring took one just behind the bridge and it exploded below deck inside the ship. It's going to take a while to fix her.”
“It's good to hear you're in good shape at least. Your ship’s important.”
“Maybe, but that makes us a bigger target, too,” the battleship captain said. “Not that we can't handle the extra attention.”
“Must be comforting to be on this beast, with all the armor and firepower.”
“Hmph, hardly. Don't let these things fool you. They might have been able to return to fill a few specific roles and get turned into a massive arsenal ship, but these things are far from invincible,” Allen retorted, speaking up with his own opinion of the ships. “It needs an effective escort group to guard it from missile and subsurface threats, a decently sized fighter patrol for air cover, and proper supplies on standby to keep her going. Against a large, concentrated attack force, without support to back her up, this battleship is nothing more than a giant metal coffin.”
“Doesn't sound all that different from a carrier,” Keith retorted.
“Not to you,” Jay shot back coldly.
“Relax Allen,” O’Toole interrupted. “You know we’ll have each-others backs, right? We just have to stick together and we'll make it. Now give our friend here a break; I don't like my guests having bad experiences on my ship.”
“I'm sorry Captain. I… shouldn't be taking out my annoyances on you or Captain Keith,” the Admiral apologized. “She's a good ship, with an excellent crew.”
“Don't worry about it Jay. It's better to let it out somewhere than keeping everything bottled up. Besides I was built to take a beating, just like the Washington. Better to just talk.”
“Still, I should keep my opinions to myself. At least when I'm not in the right mind.”
“Something wrong, Admiral?” asked Keith.
“Admiral Jay isn't totally convinced of having battleships in the fleet again,” O’Toole explained. “But I'm hoping to change his mind.”
“It's beyond that. It's just been difficult trying to keep everything in shape, and now we're they care about us just as the war starts. To be frank, they're whipping me pretty hard to finish getting everything on the carrier's together so they can sortie us out. Feels like we were left to rot and now they pushing us to hurry up and die. It's not quite what I was hoping for.”
“It's a sad thing, Admiral. But your carriers are really important. I'm happy all the same to see them getting some attention.”
“It hurts to be forgotten.”
Keith simply nodded in acknowledgement. There was not much to be said about such a pain, particularly when he had never experienced it. Still, Admiral Jay seemed to move past it after a brief silence as he moved on to other topics.
“Captain Keith. Could you tell us about your experience in the battle?”