Nearing the Edge

by Eagle

Over the Edge

April 17th, 2006
1930 Hours
South of Arcaia, Central Pacific

Source

It had been six years since Equestria had fallen to Earth, six years since he had commanded the Spruance, and six years since his subordinate’s folly had led to the destruction of a U.S. Navy submarine and the start of a new Cold War with China. Though he had been acquitted of any direct wrongdoing, the experience had a profound effect on Captain Raleigh Keith. Most of those years since then had spent trying to stay out of trouble and clear up the issues with the Navy.

It was not until recently that he had finally been given a new command with another of his old subordinates, Bailey, acting as his Executive Officer. The U.S.S. Audie Murphy, DDG-119, was one of the dozens of destroyers that were being built within the Navy. Though not the most recent of the Arleigh Burkes, it still had the look of a ship that was fresh off the line. Named for the most decorated soldier in American history, it seemed like a true opposite to Keith’s feelings.

It had been stunning to him that he had not been demoted, or removed from the Navy outright; though looking back that would have been more merciful. Now that he had a new vessel to command, it felt like an opportunity to repeat all the mistakes he had made before. He was wary of trouble, and was resolved to stay out of the spotlight as best as possible. The less attention he got the better; his only mission to him was to ensure a relatively normal career in commanding this destroyer to make up for his failed career prior.

“Exercise Marshal looks about wrapped up, Captain,” Commander Bailey observed.

“Yea, looks like it,” Keith agreed plainly.

“Everything alright, Sir?”

“Yea, you know how I am these days.”

“Content?”

“Anything but… you mind heading back down to CIC? We still got to keep track of things ‘till the exercise officially ends; shouldn’t be too much longer.”

---

IRON MILL sat on the top of a large cliff jutting from the southern part of Equestria known as Luna’s Point. For months now it had been used to track the movements of forces in the southern half of the Defense Bloc, as well as serve as a powerful listening post to spy on their radio orders. Being located rather close to the border, it could see far behind the lines and give early warnings for any possible attack.

However, there had not been an attack since before the station had been set up, and so far the station and its sister station in the north, STEEL MILL, had mostly just kept track of the Bloc’s movements. It was an important job, but one that took a toll on the operators of the facility. Spying on the enemy from afar could prove interesting at first, but once the general routine had set in it became monotonous. It did not help that the station was constantly active, requiring long hours from the crew.

Olsen was one of the workers who had the unfortunate luck of having the night shift. At times like these the station could get down to a bare-bone skeleton crew of men, and time would go by at a torturously slow rate with the lack of company. He took another drink from his coffee mug in preparation for the start of his shift before one of his companions got his attention.

“Hey Tom, you seeing this?”

“Seeing what?” he asked, absentmindedly stirring his drink and gazing into the small whirlpool left in the cup.

“The screen, there’s a ton of contacts,” his co-worker emphasized.

“There’s always contacts; the bad guys are always active.”

“This active?”

Checking his radar screen caused Olsen to wake from surprise. Appearing on the long-range scanner were several clusters of small dots, aircraft contacts from the Bloc militaries. The mass of blips started over Bloc territory in the Shadow and Changeling Empires, and stretched for miles down into the Pacific. Disturbingly, the areas with the most activity seemed to be parallel with the three Navy battle groups that were supposed to be finishing their display of power.

“Uh… not that much.”

“You think it’s a malfunction? Solar activity or something? Maybe the Shadows are messing with us.”

“Maybe… hang on, let me call the LT and see if we’re getting any extra radio traffic on the listening station,” said Olsen.

He picked up a black phone on the wall off to the right of his chair, tugging the tangled chord over to him.

“Lieutenant Trumbull,” he called into the phone, getting no answer on the other side. “Lieutenant? This is Olsen. We’re getting some weird contacts, are you receiving an increase in Bloc chatter… hello?”

“Maybe he was away from the phone,” the other radar operator theorized. “Why don’t you go see if you can find him? I’ll start tracking all these contacts.”

“Alright, just don’t go nowhere.”

The room that housed the listening station was housed on the other side of the building complex, closer to the front entrance of the facility. The listening station had actually come online a few days before the radars had, and actually contained a larger staff due to the sheer volume of intercepted radio traffic of the Bloc militaries. However, as he walked down the hall that connected the main portions of the two, he saw no one. Even on later shifts there would be at least a moderate number of people there.

“Hello?” he called out, receiving no reply.

Though he was alone nothing seemed particularly out of the ordinary until he opened the double-doors to the radio room. The entire post was unoccupied, though everything was operating in working order. There were some papers scattered about on the floor, but that was no cause for alarm. He wondered if the crew had gone AWOL for some reason when he heard the thump of boots outside in the hall he had come from.

“Hey, that you Lieu-”

He was unable to finish his words, as something hard struck his chest and pushed him onto his back, knocking the wind out of him. Shock set in as he tried to comprehend what had happened, followed shortly by a dull pain, and then the wet, warm feeling of blood on his chest. He had been shot, and by whom he did not know, being unable to sit up to see.

Lying his head on his side, he was someone move past him as if he were scanning for targets, followed by a number of his companions. He saw their uniformed shapes flow past him, and their few exposed areas gave the look of a dark shell. They were Changelings, special operators of their empire. The human was unable to learn anything else as they moved on down the hall to the radar room; he did not see them afterwards.

---

“Report,” Bailey asked the radar operator.

“Number of contacts has increased to twenty-two. Same course and speed.”

“Alright, I’m heading back to the bridge. Speak up if there’s a problem.”

The Audie Murphy’s XO trudged his way back to the bridge, where the Captain was still standing. Reports of long-range contacts had been coming in but there had been no fleet-wide statement regarding it, or even for the battle group. Keith was still in the same spot where Bailey had left him, gazing out the window at the bow of his vessel.

“What's the problem?”

“A bunch of contacts came up on the radar. You haven’t gotten any reports have you, Sir?”

“No, I haven’t,” Keith responded. “If I had to guess it’s just the Bloc doing some counter-demonstration to our exercise.”

“Still… the MILL is supposed to let us know if they see anything.”

“Yea... yea you’re right,” the Captain agreed. “Radio the Vinson, let her know we’re tracking them.”

Bailey nodded and turned away to perform his task, while Keith was called by the radar man with a new update on the formation.

“Bridge here.”

“Captain I'm getting an increasingly large number of contacts. The number’s more than doubled. Fifty plus and growing. Heading is zero-nine-two.”

The destroyer was not the only one picking up the inbound aircraft. Most of the formation was beginning to see them on their radar, and were also beginning to radio the flagship of the formation, the Carl Vinson. The aircraft carrier was the nucleus of the battle group, and one of three groups that were taking part in the exercise. Hers was the closest to Equestria, with the Abraham Lincoln’s group being farthest south and the George Washington’s in the middle.

Far above the battle group, the carrier’s combat air patrol circled protectively. The CAP was the first line of defense for a carrier battle group, having by far the longest reach with their aircraft’s weapons. Two of these were Tomcats of VF-31, just launched from the report of the new contracts. Unsure of what exactly was happening, the men of the lead jet talked back and forth as they awaited further instructions, trying to discern the situation and put off any anxiety that silent waiting usually brought.

“You think this is just some surprise practice?” the Weapons Systems Officer asked the pilot, who happened to be the Commander of the squadron.

“I couldn’t tell you, Lighter, but I doubt it. They already sent out all of the three-oh-one, I don’t think they’d do that if this was just some surprise finale for the exercise,” answered Commander Oscar before he called out to the second Tomcat. “Everything looking good, France?”

“Yea, yep! This baby’s still holding together,” his wingman replied, rocking the F-14’s wings to show his commander.

“Just don’t do nothing crazy, you hear?”

“Aw, you know I can’t promise something like that, Coin.”

“Felix, this is the Vinson; confirm a large number of bogies inbound towards the fleet. Heading is zero-nine-two, multiple varying speeds and altitudes. We do not know their intention but we can assume they’re not friendly,” their carrier called to them, giving them an update on the situation. “Devil is already moving towards the contacts, if needed the rest of your squadron will be launched to follow up. Be advised we’re launching a new Hawkeye momentarily; Seahawk will coordinate the CAP. How copy, over?”

“Felix copies, adjusting course now. Out,” the squadron commander affirmed before turning to his wingman. “You hear that France?”

“I hear you lead, let’s get going.”

As the fighters surged out to meet the mass of approaching planes, the vessels down below were bustling with confusion, trying to figure out what was happening. Keith and the Audie Murphy, sitting at the tail end of the formation, awaited their orders, anxiously eyeing the ever-closing bogies. The range had decreased greatly by the time a report was received from their flagship.

“Report from the Vinson, Sir. Similar tracks by the other two battle groups,” Bailey finally chimed up. “We don’t know what they’re doing but we can assume them to have aggressive intent. Still we’re told to keep weapons tight; they don’t want us to shoot first.”

“Figures as much, damn it I don’t need to get into a tough spot like this again, all this who-shoots-first bullshit,” the Captain lamented. “Son of a bitch the numbers are still growing! They’re closing in too… damn it they’re not coming to give us a parade! Shit… what… what can I do with this kind of-”

“Captain! Don’t worry about last time. Clear your head and just give the call and we’ll stick with it.”

Before the Captain could even begin this process, a new call came from the radar operator, who was noticeably more concerned than before.

“Bridge, radar! Contacts continuing to rise, some look like they’re spreading out!”

“Hell… they are coming for us, huh?” Keith grunted to his executive officer.

“That’s what it looks like, Captain,” Bailey agreed.

“Well, let's see if I can do something right for once. Get down the CIC, get everyone ready to engage but we won’t shoot first. We’ll be ready to respond,” Keith ordered, returning to answer the radar man as Bailey left the bridge. “Bridge here, report! Are those bogies doing anything different now?”

“No Sir! Contacts continuing on, some increasing speed and-” the radar operator stopped as a mass of new dots appeared from the formation, quickly pulling away at exceedingly high speed. “Vampire! Vampire! Vampire! Anti-Ship missiles launched! Repeat, Vampire, anti-ship missiles inbound!”

Far in the distance, well out of sight from the human eye, the formation of bombers released their Anti-Ship Missiles at the fleet of American warships. Once they were all released, the bombers turned and sped away at whatever speed their individual design allowed. The smaller fighters of the Changeling and Shadow Navies continued onward, some to engage the incoming American fighters, others with their mission of attacking the ships.

“Felix, Seahawk! Enemy bogies are confirmed hostile, you are clear to engage,” the Hawkeye called to the Tomcats. “Devil is already in action, move west to join them. The rest of your squadron and the CAG is launching to assist, now get going! We can’t let anymore of them through!”

“Roger, Seahawk,” Oscar confirmed. “Let’s snipe these bastards, Lighter; lock up the radar and get a target for the Phoenix!”

The ‘wizzo’ hurriedly complied, using the Tomcat’s powerful radar to select their first target, a far-off MiG that was moving towards the fleet. Getting a clear tone, the F-14 released its Phoenix missile, the largest and longest-ranged air-to-air weapon in the world. The missile dropped from the plane’s body and ignited its rocket, zooming away into the clouds. At the same time, a wave of missiles shot past the Tomcat, heading in the opposite direction and aiming for the American vessels.

Below, the mass of inbound ordinance was being tracked by each of the ship’s radars. The first to fire was the anti-air commander of the formation, the AEGIS cruiser USS Monterey. Its powerful radar tracked the targets as it volleyed its own complement of missiles. One-hundred and twenty-two shot out of the ship, concealing the cruiser in a dense cloud of smoke and causing any exposed sailor to seek shelter below decks for protection from choking and burning eyes. Two and a half minutes later her missile cells were empty.

In the dense fog of chaos and confusion that clouded the formation, another ship fired at the same time as her sister. The older cruiser Vincennes shot off of its own initiative when it saw the other Ticonderoga launching. Shortly after the Monterey finished, the Vincennes was also void of long-range weaponry.

Of all the American missiles fired, three-fourths found a target. A handful missed, two or three would sometimes lock onto the same target, and others were distracted by the powerful jamming emitted from some of the bloc fighters flying about. As the ASM’s approached individual American ships began to fire their own stores.

Inevitably, some made it through, leaving it up to the ship’s point-defense systems to defeat them. One locked onto the Vincennes, striking just beneath the antennae array and causing the mast to collapse to its side, falling over the starboard side of the ship and into the ocean. Another targeted the destroyer Carney, but was distracted by countermeasures and exploded above the ship, damaging the vessel but sparing it from a direct hit. Only one ASM targeted the Vinson, nearly reaching the formation before one of the carrier’s own Sea Sparrows blew it out of the sky.

The first wave had been repulsed, but another was already on the way. The CAP was already doing what it could, with the F-14s of VF-301 fighting against increasingly one-sided odds with the Bloc fighters and hoping relief would come soon from the rest of the carrier’s air wing. Oscar and his wingman were in the process of firing their last Phoenix missiles; his own aimed at an inbound TU-16 Badger bomber.

“Closing in… that’s a kill, Coin! Right on his nose!” the WSO shouted.

“Yea, but that’s only the second one, and we got to get in close now. Christ, how’re we going to deal with all these guys?”

“Felix, Seahawk. Multiple bandits have bypassed Devil and are closing on the fleet. Intercept them at once!”

“What about those bombers?” he asked in response. “What about the Devils!? They’re gonna get swarmed that far out!”

“No time, we need to set up a new CAP barrier. Devil will have to fend for themselves and pull back when they can,” Seahawk responded coldly. “The rest of your squadron will be there soon. Raider and Marauder are launching now. How copy, over?”

“Solid copy, Seahawk. Out,” he replied. “Alright Lighter, find me a target. One of those close, inbound ones.”

The leader of VF-31 allowed his partner to work as he attempted to contact the other F-14 squadron.

“Devil, Felix. Hoa, how’re you holding up out there?”

“Bad, real bad! Three of my guys are down! We could sure use some help out here, over!”

“You’ll have to hold on a little longer; try to make your way back to us.”

“I’ll see what I can do, we’re on the defense here and we’re down to close range. Pretty soon we’re gonna be left with guns… good luck, Felix, out.”

“Lead, radar’s tracking bandits below us, two o’clock,” the WSO spoke up. “Two flights of five at least; they look like Fulcrums. A bunch of others close behind. They’re closing in on the ships.”

“They’re well within missile range, what are they doing?” he wondered aloud before answering himself. “Better not let them go through with whatever it is.”

He put the Tomcat into a shallow dive without warning, causing his wingman to jerk in a surprised reaction and trail behind with his own. The targets appeared on his screen before he could visually see them in the fading light, ten green boxes clustered together in two formations, and several others bringing up the rear. Some of the MiGs noticed the approaching fighters on their radar, with one flight breaking formation as the other continued on their flight path.

The Fulcrums began closing to engage but Oscar got the first shot off, firing one of his Sidewinders. Easily tracking onto the hot engines of the MiG, the Shadow pilot attempted to drop flares but could not stop the missile from detonating just behind his aircraft, the explosion killing the engines. The remaining bandits began closing in on the Americans, who were soon joined by the remaining Tomcats of Felix Squadron and a number of Hornets. Before long the air engagement had turned into a large dogfight being waged on a sizable scale.

Down below, far past the swirling conflict miles above, the American Navy was just beginning to collect itself. The Audie Murphy’s radar tracked several dozens of targets and varying ranges, some aircraft and others the missile ordnance released by them. Despite the vigorous defense of the CAP, some twenty-two aircraft were closing to an increasingly uncomfortable range, and the bomber-launched ASMs were on their way as well. Many of the contacts were concealed by a terrific amount of jamming from escorting Bloc electronic warfare aircraft, and the destroyer Roosevelt fired multiple missiles into the cloud of interference, killing two jammers and fighters apiece. Keith was about to give the order to focus on the more distant ASMs when some of the lower-level MiGs broke away, followed shortly by panicked warnings from the sonar.

“Conn sonar! Torpedo in the water! Long range!”

“What, they have subs nearby!?”

“I-I don’t think so; I didn’t hear any launch transients! I’m not picking up any submarines!”

“None? They have to be there! How could they be shooting torpedoes at us without subs!?” Keith shouted. “Alright, we’ve got some distance, turn away and get countermeasures ready. We’ll maneuver away and see about finding that damn submarine afterwards. See about getting our Seahawk in the air!”

The destroyer turned to starboard, breaking formation so as to avoid the oncoming torpedo. However, she was not the only ship to do so, as every vessel had picked up the torpedoes coming at various angles and took individual maneuvers to dodge the lethal underwater weapons. Slowly but surely, the battle group disintegrated with multiple ships going in different directions.

Though none of the torpedoes struck, the American ships were not able to reform before the bomber’s missiles arrived. The vessels were now assailed by a wave of them, and without much coordination it could not be fully stopped. Most of the remaining anti-air missiles were launched, with many of the ships focused on defending themselves from attack.

Having always been the main target, the Carl Vinson received the bulk of attention. The carrier’s remaining RAM and Sea Sparrows were shot as the assailants closed in, leaving her with only the closest-range defenses. With three Phalanx guns, the carrier was still covered from most angles, and these succeeded in killing an astounding five missiles before they struck the carrier.

However, her luck could not last, and after the fifth was destroyed the victorious CIWS could not adjust in time to engage the missile that was coming in a second behind from a different direction. The missile crashed into the supercarrier at her bow, just under the edge of the ramp. The Vinson shook as if it were struck by an earthquake, and though there was no danger of flooding, further damage was to come.

The force of the impact had damaged the CIWS mount, and as such it was unable to stop a second missile from impacting some twenty seconds later. Here the carrier’s luck reversed, as the ASM flew past the one of the carrier’s elevators, jammed low from the impact of the first hit, and into the open hanger, detonating inside. Here, many of the remaining aircraft, including a number of F-18s being readied for battle, exploded. Most of the crew working in the area died quickly from the explosion, after which a sizable fire consumed the hanger and began to spread; though contained quickly through quick action of the firefighters, the Vinson was effectively crippled.

Left stunned and beaten, the carrier was left to absorb two additional hits before the nightmare was over. One hit just beneath the island, forcing it to be evacuated and further hampering operations. The other skimmed the waves impacted just above the waterline, causing some flooding and a list of two degrees but nothing beyond this.

“Captain, order’s been given to retreat!” said Commander Bailey to Keith. “Ships are ordered to make their way individually back to safe territory. All ships that still have anti-air missiles are to form the rear and protect the damaged ships as best they can.”

“Where’s safe territory?”

“They didn’t say, Sir. It could be as far back as Pearl and we wouldn’t know.”

“Give me an ammo count. How much do we have left?”

Bailey returned to him with a report in less than a minute. The Audie Murphy still retained half of her ninety-six SM-2 missiles, and plenty of ammunition for her other weapons. Of all in the formation she was one of the lucky few, as the number of ships that were neither damaged nor empty of ordinance was close to nil. Most could not comply with the order to form an attempted rearguard, and were already steaming west as quickly as their engines could drive them.

“Commander, as much as I’d like to turn tail and save our asses right now, I’d rather not lose my last ship with my back to the bad guys.”

“I can understand that, Sir. You plan on staying?”

“I plan on moving into the attack, Commander,” Keith clarified. “We’re going to try and break up their assaults before they reach the rest of the battle group, try and draw some heat off of the rest of our ships.”

“Got it, what do you want us to do?” asked Bailey with no hesitation.

“Make sure the rest of our missiles are focused on their ASMs, they’re the biggest threat. Any of their planes closes in for something fancy we can kill them with close-range weapons.”

“Aye, Captain.”

“Helm!” he shouted, calling upon the sailor at the wheel of the ship. “Ahead full, come left to zero-nine-zero. Take us on an westerly course and be prepared to evade attacks if needed.”

With this the Audie Murphy began moving towards the Bloc aircraft, sailing headlong into the furious storm of bandits. She left behind the other American crafts, streaming east independently, leaving wakes in the water and long columns of smoke behind them from the damage and fires. The destroyer’s seemingly suicidal move achieved its purpose, as it attracted the attention of the next wave of incoming Bloc aircraft.

With the enemy closing in, Keith gave another order to the helm to adjust course in a northern direction, taking her abreast along the Bloc’s coming attack. The radar tracked a sundry of Bloc aircraft; Flankers, Fulcrums, Bears, Badgers, Backfires, Blinders, and a multitude of others. There were a noticeably lesser number of strategic bombers this time, due to the others having fired their missiles and returned to base, but they still posed a grave threat. Without a care for target selection, they volleyed their anti-ship missiles and began their own return.

These were picked up instantly by the radar and; thankfully, there were fewer of them than the destroyer had missiles. In accordance with the orders, Bailey in the CIC ordered the SM-2s to be fired, one for each ASM. Audie Murphy shuddered as the weapons launched from the bow of the ship, concealing the bridge and Keith’s view in rocket smoke. They were fired rather conservatively, with Bailey waiting to see which would impact and which would miss.

“Captain, enemy birds inbound! High and low from all over!” one of the crewmen warned. “Can we engage with Phalanx when they’re in range?”

“Certainly! I don’t think they’ll get that close, but see if you can pick off one if they get careless.”

“They’re still closing, Sir… I think they mean it… whatever they’re doing.”

“What are they going to do, strafe us? They can’t hurt us unless they’ve got missiles or bombs,” Keith remarked, before realizing the actual possibility of this. “Shit, they’ve got bombs! Helm, prepare for evasive! Ahead flank!”

The Audie Murphy lurched forward, cutting through the waves as fast as the General Electric engines could move her. She began to move erratically as the smaller aircraft closed in, hoping to dodge any ordinance dropped at her. The maneuvering caused her to sway heavily, with the grey hull rolling about in the sea in accordance with the rudder’s direction.

Keith’s guess had proven accurate, as a number of the high-altitude contacts were carrying bombs, hoping to drop them onto the ship and wreck her upper decks. A few more aircraft, lacking the weapons to hurt the ship but carrying powerful jammers, flew even closer in an attempt to distract the computer-assisted guns. The first flight that came after the destroyer was fortunately broken up by two Hornets several miles out from their target, and only two came in at separate times.

One performed a glide-bombing attack, dropping its bombs and zooming away before it ventured within range of the guns; having dropped from such a range, and with a sharp turn by the helmsman, the bombs exploded harmlessly in the ocean. The second arrived and, with a significant amount of elevation working for him, closed in and began to perform a sort of dive-bombing run. This was quickly noticed and another quick turn in the opposite direction spared the ship as the iron explosives crashed into the water close enough to soak the superstructure in the spray. This Fulcrum did fall within range of the CIWS and the gun rippled at the target as it pulled away; some hits were seen to be made but the MiG continued on, making its escape into the clouds.

As the Audie Murphy was distracted, another group of fighters closed in fast in formation at relatively low altitude. As they approached the ship they slowed down, dropping their height further in the process. This was called out to Keith from the CIC and many additional sailors, with one pointing out they were far too low for a bomb attack. Suddenly, the attackers pulled up, increasing their speed and altitude and jetting away from the ship. This, in turn, was followed by further alarmed warnings from the sonar operator.

“Torpedoes! Multiple torpedoes in the water!”

“Helm, turn us away!” Keith ordered immediately. “That’s why we didn’t pick up any sub contacts; they’re dropping fish by air. They don’t need subs! What other tricks do you bastards have?”

“Captain, Bailey here. We’ve got a lot of contacts bearing down on us. What do you want us to do?”

“Bailey, I need you to switch targets! Fire the missiles at the approaching planes! Break up those formations!”

“Aye, Captain!”

Bailey did not wait to ask if he wanted to conserve any more of the missiles. The remainders of them were fired at various targets, surprising the Bloc aircraft who assumed there were no more left aboard. At a relatively close range the planes were given little time to react, and the formations soon scattered in every direction. One of the missiles homed in on one of the accompanying jamming aircraft, a MiG outfitted for such purpose of diverting attention; in spite of heavy interference, countermeasures, and maneuvering, the SM-2 struck in the belly and turning the plane into a fireball of burning aviation fuel and metal. Two more connected with their targets in the bomber formation, with both detonating the bombs on the wings and destroying the Fulcrums in thunderous explosions. The last flight carrying torpedoes, laden with heavier ordinance, were unable to maneuver as sharply and were forced to abandon their torpedoes, as most did, or test their luck. One of these attempted to dodge while retaining his torpedo and met its fate to another of the missiles.

With the attack formation broken apart, the Bloc aircraft began individual runs on the fleeing destroyer. Two of the Fulcrums dropped their bombs from a distance but were far off the mark. Another flew in at high speed and released, with the bombs crashing into the water some eighty feet from the destroyer, rattling it greatly. It passed over the ship, afterburner fires lighting its tail, hoping to escape in the opposite direction. Before it could, the Phalanx locked on to the fleeing assailant and ripped the plane to shreds with a long burst of twenty-millimeter rounds.

The final two Fulcrums came from separate directions, one releasing from far off and the other attempting to dive on the destroyer. The Audie Murphy heeled over hard once again, shifting out of the way of the bombs and continuing in a circle. The bombs of both impacted the ocean at roughly the same time, thankfully a good deal away from the destroyer. The diving MiG pulled away, giving the CIWS another chance to score a kill. Before it could do so, the Fulcrum began releasing several clouds of chaff. The radar of the Phalanx locked onto one of these, mistaking it for the target, and fired several rounds harmlessly into the cloud as the aircraft made good on its escape.

Having lost their formation and with the main American fleet now too far to strike at, the Bloc aircraft had lashed out against the Audie Murphy and had nothing to show for it. Instead, the attackers chose another target that better suited them. The USS Roosevelt had earlier been struck in the stern by a Kitchen missile where her Phalanx could not defend, hitting low and damaging her screws, leaving her immobile. Firing all the weapons that were still operational, the crew was able to blow the wing off one MiG that ventured too close before bombs struck the hapless destroyer. After five hits, one of which struck amidships and exploded within the hull, the order to abandon ship was given.

Keith watched as the ship was wracked with explosions from the bombs. With no remaining missiles and well out of range of their remaining weapons, he could not directly defend his ally. Through binoculars he could see that the bombs had wrecked much of the superstructure of the ship, and that it was low in the water with its decks almost awash.

“Captain Keith, we’re clear!” Bailey called in excitedly, shaking him a bit from the sudden interruption. “All the remaining contacts are breaking off or withdrawing!”

“Alright… alright good… any damage?”

“No Sir, nothing major. Send my regards to the helm.”

“Will do. Is the helicopter still ready to go?”

“It’s ready, but we’re still not picking up any sonar contacts. Not even the torps, they ran their range out awhile ago,” answered Bailey. “Do you still want them to launch?”

“Send them up and tell them to head to the Roosevelt. We’re going to head there and pull our guys out of the water. Tell the medicals to expect wounded.”

“Aye, Captain.”

“Helm, set course for the Roosevelt.”

As the Audie Murphy’s battle reached its conclusion, the battle in the air was reaching a climax as well. With all of the bombers and attack planes retiring, the Bloc fighters began to slowly disengage as well. Some stayed for the hope of shooting down more Americans, but their fuel was beginning to run short and few wished to risk not making it back to their far-off carriers. The American fighters, battered and exhausted but still holding their thin line, were in no position to pursue. Commander Oscar himself had expended his last missile on a now-deceased Flanker and had spent much of the remaining time trying to survive.

“Devil, Felix. Bandits are breaking away here. Can you get back to us, over?”

“No, negative! They’re still on us over here, some fresh squadron jumped us! A bunch of black and blue Foxhounds! I’ve lost more than half my planes! Shit, these things aren’t normal!” the VF-301 leader shouted in an increasingly panicked voice. “Felix, these guys are a league up on us! We can’t kill one of them! They’re Bugs but- fuck! When did they get pilots li-”

The sound of the Commander’s voice cut suddenly, without warning or further noise. A deathly static hung over the airwaves, resonating in Oscar’s head. He waited a few more seconds before attempting to call out to his comrade again.

“Devil? Devil, this is Felix are you still there?”

No reply came beyond the same scratchy static.

“Seahawk, Felix. Is Devil still on your scope? We can’t raise them, over.”

“Negative, Felix. Devil is down. We need to disengage immediately.”

“Damn it,” he swore to himself. “They can’t all be gone… can we get a chopper over there to search for them? No… no, with all those bandits and no cover? Stupid, that’d just be more dead people… how the fuck did this happen?”

“All aircraft are to head inland and make for the nearest allied base, how copy over?”

“Seahawk, we can’t head back to the boat?”

“Not a chance, she’s beat to Hell. We can’t even land on her, much less defend her,” the AWACS clarified. “Now get your feet dry ASAP. The bad guys didn’t just hit us here. This is war now; we’ll be needed again before long. Seahawk, out.”

“Damn right it’s war, anyone could've told you that,” Oscar groaned, pulling his Tomcat in a new direction to follow the remaining aircraft towards the continent. “Bug Foxhound huh? God, what else is happening out there?”

Author's Note:

Well, it's finally started. Life's kinda hectic with Uni wrapping up soon and such, it's hard finding writing time. Apologies if I misses any errors in editing like grammar or such anywhere. Thanks for reading, hope you all enjoy.

Comments

[TLP]

And so it finally begins.

[Earthpatriot117]

I've awaited the day the war would start. I've dreded and lunged for it. xd
A Totally AWESOME action packed chapter dude!

No problem man, life can be complicated but so long as you decide not to ever abandon this AWESOME story I don't care how long I have to wait in between updates.