April 17th, 2006
2230 Hours
Academy
“I really wish I hadn't been up for a night patrol tonight,” lamented Spitfire as she made her way out to her Super Hornet. “Hey, is it almost ready?”
“Almost ma’am!” the crew chief shouted to her over the engine noise. “Just need to load the missiles and we'll be done!”
As she waited another jet’s engine filled the sky above with noise. Their attention was directed upwards as two unknown aircraft shot over the base at high speed and altitude, concealed in the darkness. The sounds took Spitfire by surprise, and she became annoyed at the idea of some of her pilots taking a nighttime joy ride in their fighters.
“Who’s that supposed to be?” she asked the crew chief. “I thought I was the only one flying tonight.”
“I don't know, I haven't sent any other jets up!”
An explosion rocked at the other end of the base, near where the radar site was, with the shockwave pushing at the unsuspecting ponies. This was followed by two more at other places, and a third that landed uncomfortably close by. Several other aircraft flew over the base, with some strafing at buildings and exposed equipment. The hangar across from Spitfire was struck by a bomb, collapsing it and setting the Hornets housed within it aflame.
Acting largely on reaction, Spitfire flared her wings and flew up to the cockpit of her jet, with most of the ground crew having already fled to cover. Shutting the canopy she performed a minuscule check of the planes system before guiding it to the runway, her eyes constantly shifting skyward in search of any attacking planes. The F-18 began rolling down the tarmac as soon as it was lined up, not bothering to wait for the control tower’s approval. Pushing ahead at full afterburner, the plane lifted off as a missile passed under its wing in the opposite direction, shaking the jet and the pilot and striking an unknown target behind it.
Rather than climb, Spitfire dove down in an attempt to hide, as the Academy had been built on a rather high portion of land. Leveling out as she neared the ground, the night suddenly became calm again, with no further aircraft or explosions, the only noise being made by the Hornet. She did not turn on her radar for fear of being detected, as getting into a fight alone in such conditions and without support seemed foolish.
Biding her time, she continued to hold near the Academy, debating what she should do. Left alone and missing most of her armament, she first thought it would be best to wait the attack out. It was only after this that the image of her team being assailed, fired down and destroyed from above, began to guilt her mind. So many had been lost in the years of fighting leading up to this, but now that they had equipment of an equal footing. Spitfire committed to ensuring that no others would fall. It was her team, and the ponies in it looked to her even more than each other; there was no reason to lose more of them.
Gaining altitude once more, she saw the glowing fires at the academy, lighting the base in the darkness. She briefly spotted a plane flying low over the base. Electing it as her target, she activated her radar and began to give chase to an Su-24.
Moving in at high speed to get into gun range, she failed to notice the Fencer’s escort, circling protectively above. The quickly spotted the lone Hornet, and an Su-27 turned down to attack her. Spitfire heard the warning signals of searching weapons just as she was entering gun range. With a good deal of annoyance, she was forced to abandon the short chase and evade, breaking hard to the left and diving again as the Flanker followed.
On the defensive in a one-on-one dogfight, Spitfire did her best to either lose or trick the Shadow pilot. However, working without her squadron proved to be a grueling task. Every move she made was matched by the pursuer, every dive and climb, every break and turn, every attempt just barely left the Shadow pilot still in attack position. He was a first class pilot, and Spitfire groaned from the near constant warning alerts, always having to move to avoid a clear lock on for the Sukhoi.
Attrition began to eat away at her. Unable to outrun or outmaneuver her foe, all she could do is stay alive and delay until a opportunity presented itself. As the pursuit continued, it seemed that such an opportunity would not come. Spitfire was steadily chased away from her home, and her team, across the Equestrian countryside.
The turns grew lazier as Spitfire felt the Flanker’s targeting system edge ever closer. She readied the Hornet’s countermeasures for the inevitable missile before an explosion drew her attention to the Shadow fighter and the warnings finally ceased. She straightened her craft and drew a long breath, releasing it with a shake as her wingpony’s voice came over the radio, an immeasurable and appreciated break in the lonely silence that had covered her since she launched.
“Spitfire! Hey, you alright?”
“Soarin! Thanks for that, I don’t think I would’ve lasted much longer,” she answered. “And yea, I’m fine. I’m shook up but I’m fine. How’s everypony else in the squadron?”
“Don’t know. I just got in my jet and took off when there was a break in the bombing,” replied the Wonderbolt’s second. “I didn’t see anypony get hit, just a bunch of planes and buildings that got blown up.”
“So it’s just you?”
“I’ve got Fleetfoot and Rapidfire with me.”
“Good… I guess we should… do something then, huh?”
“Any ideas, Bolt Lead?”
“And the attack is still underway?”
“Last I saw it was; there was a second wave closing in when I took off. A big one.”
“Well, we don’t have enough planes to take them head on… let’s try a hunter-killer.”
“A… what?”
“Simple, you three stay back here and hide low. I’ll climb up high and make a pass on the enemy formation,” Spitfire clarified. “That’ll draw some of the escorting fighters off. Then I’ll lead them to you and you can take them down.”
“You’re going by yourself? But that’s-”
“Yes, Soarin, there’s no reason to risk any of you,” she said, cutting him off. “Besides, I don’t have any missiles. Now drop down and wait till I bring some targets back.”
“Alright… good luck, Lead.”
Spitfire’s Super Hornet pulled up above the clouds as her wing flew down in the opposite direction. Alone once more, she found herself wishing she had brought at least one of the three along with her, if only for the company and security. Pushing this regret aside, she reminded herself that it was unnecessary. She was the only one without long-range ordinance and she was the leader of the Wonderbolts; there was no reason to put the others in danger or weaken the ambush. One fighter would be enough to draw off some escorts.
Turning the radar back on, she saw the second attack wave of eighteen aircraft flying in the direction of the base. She adjusted her heading to intercept them, increasing the altitude even further over the course of three minutes. Some of the dots on the radar screen broke away from the formation, indicating they had spotted her, but were too low to attack at close range. Spitfire began to fire off countermeasures periodically, ensuring any targeting systems or launched missiles would have difficulty finding her as she flew straight on.
Finally arriving above the formation, she reduced her engine thrust, tipped her plane over, and began the long dive towards the bomber formation. Burning flares and metal chaff poured out of the Hornet as she dove, creating a long, falling line of light marking her trail. The bombers came into view on her Heads-Up Display, showing themselves as Tu-22 Backfires, older jets that could still crippled the base if allowed to break through. They remained in formation despite knowing of the Hornet diving on them, hoping the escorts would drive it away.
Spitfire changed targets twice before settling on the Backfire in the farthest right of the formation. Some missiles were launched from the escorts but the angle combined with the countermeasures saw them fly past harmlessly. The bomber came closer and closer, and Spitfire began to lead the target in preparation. Finally, when the range fell low enough, she fired a long burst from the Hornet’s cannon, seeing several flashes on the Backfire before shooting past and pulling up, darting out to the south towards her comrades with two of the escorts in tow.
The bomber shuddered under the impact of multiple twenty millimeter shells. Two of the high-explosive rounds had struck the left engine, forcing it to slow. As the pilot attempted to keep the Backfire level, but the altitude was dropping uncontrollably, and the crew bailed out before their craft spiraled into the earth below.
Three of the escorting Flankers turned and gave chase, attempting to catch the escaping Hornet. Spitfire leveled out low and used the speed from the dive to escape, seeing the engine fires of the pursuers in her mirror. The Flanker pilots followed, wanting to avenge their lost bomber.
Spitfire continued twisting through the night, ensuring the Su-27s tailed her into the trap. Pulling off to the right, she passed her companions lying low behind some of the hilly terrain to the south. As the Flankers passed, the three Hornets sprung the ambush, rising up to attack the hostile jets from behind.
Each F-18 volleyed multiple radar missiles at their targets. Two of the Flankers exploded simultaneously, with the third surviving only a second longer before it joined the fallen. Watching the ambush go off perfectly, Spitfire reduced the throttle and leveled her plane, allowing the other three to catch up.
“We did it! Nice work Wonderbolts!” she congratulated.
“What next?” Soarin asked.
“Let's get back to base. We might be able to catch some stragglers.”
The four Hornets joined into a single formation before beginning their return. Despite Spitfire’s hopes, no hostile aircraft remained overhead. Nor were there any other friendly jets in the sky. They were the only ones.
The Academy burned in the night, lit up by the numerous fires started by the bombing. Buildings, aircraft, and stores were blazing away to give a disheartening view of their home. They could not land as the runway was cratered in several areas by the bombing. The control tower was also gone, with only a pile of rubble to mark where it once stood.
Finally, Spitfire was able to make contact with the base when one of the ground crews got a reserve radio set up. The news was almost as bad as she feared. Most of the remaining fighters on the base had been destroyed, leaving the squadron virtually disabled as a combat formation.
Still, those aircraft could be replaced; the pilots could not. To her great relief, none of the Wonderbolts themselves had been hit during the raid. Spitfire retained her hope, thankful for the outcome; keeping her wingponies, her friends, alive was the most important thing. It had been a terrible first night of the war, but they were alive. That was her own goal, her personal mission that would last as long as she did.
The fuel gauge on her panel began to show that the Hornet was running dry, an unfortunate result of the high-speed dogfighting. Landing back at the Academy was neither possible nor desirable at this point. The shattered runway could not support the act, and even with it the base was virtually defenseless and at the mercy of any follow-up assaults.
With fuel running low and not wanting to suffer further material losses, she ordered the base abandoned by the squadron. It was of little use with the runway lost, and there was no point in lingering there to get picked off in a follow-up attack. She ordered the Wonderbolts on the ground to utilize their own wings and retreat east to the nearest safe airbase. She then turned away and led her flight of Hornets in the same direction.